


Birthright 02 - The Gathering

by Soledad



Series: Birthright [2]
Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Harper Deserved Better, M/M, Nietzscheans Are Not Necessarily Dumb, Perseids Are Eminently Practical, Than Bugs Are Cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 98,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>Angel Dark, Demon Bright</i>, Tyr is coming to a decision about his future. It's not the one we've seen in canon.<br/>Dedicated to the members of the Memory Alpha Yahoo Group. Without their support I’d never have been able to write this story.<br/>Beta-read by Erinnyes and Questmaker, whom I owe my never-ending gratitude.<br/>Cover art by Archet: <b><a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/32/e7/89/32e7896f72c39d8c7fc09168abd9ca77.jpg">Birthright 2</a></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa, last surviving member of the Kodiak Pride, stared out the window of his quarters on the last High Guard warship, the _Andromeda Ascendant_ – well, the last one that he knew to be still on active duty anyway. The symbolism of the fact that they were both the last of their kind didn’t go by him unnoticed. He was certain about the significance of this fact – but he was uncertain about the actions that should result from this significance. That worried him, as indecision wasn’t usually characteristic for him… for _any_ Nietzschean. Determination was part of their genetic code.

When he’d let himself be talked into Dylan Hunt’s noble crusade, he did it for his own purposes. He believed that having access to a ship this powerful would serve him better than hanging around a ragtag band of human and alien mercenaries. That living aboard the _Andromeda_ would help him rebuild Kodiak Pride, fulfil his vengeance on the Drago-Kazov Neanderthals and re-claim his birthright.

So far, he had failed.

Granted, he _had_ become a husband, if only for a short time, and he had even tasted a small amount of vengeance, making Orca Pride pay for their betrayal on the Kodiak and make them as homeless as he had been made. But at the end, Guderian’s parting words did contain a great deal of bitter truth. Homeless and on the flight, Guderian still had his Pride, his wives and his children to support him.

Tyr, on the other hand, had nothing.

His quarters aboard the _Andromeda_ – once those of the ship’s Nietzschean First Officer – were large enough for a big family, and yet he lived alone in this abundance of space. Childless.

Had Guderian not been so maddeningly inferior, so narrow-minded and overconfident, Tyr would have considered to actually go through with their plan and seize the _Andromeda_. It would have been doable – if not exactly easy. After all, he had started to sabotage the ship on the very day he had declared to join Hunt’s case, and Guderian had about three hundred combatants – trained Nietzschean warriors, who’d have put up a much better fight than his fellow mercenaries had. Theoretically, they _could_ have succeeded.

But Tyr realized that Guderian’s strategic skills never extended beyond hijacking and robbing Than transport ships. With barbaric fools like him Tyr could never have overwritten the AI’s programming and take control. Therefore self-preservation demanded that he took sides with the winner – even if it meant to let his wife go and remain lonely among strangers again.

Now, shortly after the Battle of the Witchhead Nebula, when history had re-aligned itself despite all hope, Tyr began to wonder whether he shouldn’t have thrown his lot in with his own people, after all. Even though they were just Orca. As his wife, Freya would eventually have followed him when he had gathered enough people to re-found Kodiak Pride, with her as the new Matriarch on his side.

Re-evaluating his decision concerning the Orca, Tyr now found his reasoning at that time wanting. Had he been able to relinquish his vengeance, Freya would be here with him now, in this elegance and luxury that few people he knew could call their own in these times. This was a way of life Hunt undoubtedly took for granted – and tried to bring back to the shards of what had once been the Commonwealth. A noble goal indeed; only Tyr never really believed it to be possible. Nor did he really care about it, beyond the question what good it would do him, personally.

He turned away from the window to give his current quarters a cursory glance. They were eminently Nietzschean, with the open spaces and the sparse handful of furniture – he found them that way and kept them that way, as his tastes seemed to harmonize with those of the former owner. The floor was covered by thick rugs of a deep blue-grey, with a pattern of black leaves scattered across them. They enabled him to move around noiselessly, though he couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to have his barefooted children romping around, rolling on the rugs and laughing.

There was a low, large couch with deep blue and black velvet cushions, standing at the wall opposite the entrance, inviting to sit down with his wife in his arms and watch their children play. Only that he had no wife and no children. He’d sacrificed them to a short foretaste of vengeance, wasting precious time in which he could have spread his genes and worked on rebuilding his Pride, while there were whole _worlds_ full of Drago-Kazov primates, with dozens of children around their knees.

And while he lived here in these comfortable quarters alone, the Orca fugitives he had betrayed were most likely cramped together aboard their small ships, looking for a place they might be able to call home one day. Freya, who’d chosen him before the males of her own Pride, among them.

Tyr shook his head so vehemently that his long braids flew around him like a whirlwind. Guilt was a wasted emotion and brooding over decisions made – even if those decisions proved wrong – was counterproductive. He needed to look into the future now. Make new plans, new decisions. First and most important of which was to re-evaluate his loyalties.

He’d begun to think of the _Andromeda_ as his home. He’d even brought his few personal items from Haukin Tau Drift, where he’d had a small apartment for ten years: weapons, painting utensils and books. Books were very important for him, and unlike most people, he preferred them in hard copies and in original. He’d even learned a few ancient languages, just to read his favourites – Nietzsche's _Beyond Good and Evil_ , Ayn Rand's _Fountainhead_ , Sun Tzu's _Art of War_ , Hedas of Thonia, and Machiavelli – in the language they’d been written long ago. There were always nuances lost in translation, and he preferred the untainted source.

Currently, he was reading _The Artha-Shastra_ by Chandragupta Maurya – the ancient Indian emperor better known as Chanakya – and enjoyed greatly not only the wisdom of the book itself but also the complexity of Sanskrit, a language almost as old as mankind itself. Contrary to common belief among other races, not all Nietzscheans were grunting barbarians with the single purpose of killing and breeding. Those things _had_ their place in every Nietzschean’s life, of course, but some of the Prides cultivated other pastimes as well. Kodiak had been one of those Prides, although they never lowered themselves to the decadence that had become so characteristic for Jaguar Pride.

Tyr sighed impatiently and shook his head again, forcing his attention back to the question at hand. He needed to understand his own actions – or the lack thereof. Today, he could have made a difference, changing history. He could have sabotaged the _Andromeda_. Could have killed everyone aboard and saved one hundred thousand Nietzschean lives. Yet he did not. Why?

He thought back at the heated arguments among the crew when they’d been discussing what to do – or not to do – and Dylan Hunt’s argument rang in his head like an alarm bell.

“Make the wrong decision, and three hundred years later, we could prevent Tyr's birth or _Andromeda_ 's rescue from the black hole. Anything.”

There was his answer. He’d let his own need for survival outweigh the fate of an entire people. _His_ people. As Dylan said, it was a very Nietzschean thing to do. He didn’t really buy Hunt’s theory about knowing on some level that what they had done would have somehow been necessary and right. He never really cared about right or wrong – that was a human concept. It had been pure self-preservation that had motivated his actions, nothing more and nothing less. And no matter of wasted guilt would make him regret his decision.

Life was the only steady fact he knew. He couldn’t sacrifice it for a vague promise that _maybe_ the changing of history would have provided his Pride – or himself – with a better future. He had survived the diamond mines on Xochitl at the age of sixteen. He had clawed his way out of the collapsed mine, through two hundred meters of dirt, through the bodies of the dead, just to escape into a deadly desert, where he had lived on seep-water and sand rats for an entire season. Despite all this, he had healed and exacted his revenge on the overseers. He couldn’t give up all that for _maybe_.

Tyr walked over to the bedroom, opened the metallic box in which he kept Freya’s double helix and held it in his cupped palms for a moment, weighing his choices. The memory of Freya still warmed his heart – she was so fair, her bloodline so promising, despite the fact that she belonged to Orca Pride. Maybe once there had been more to the Orca. Maybe one day there could be more to them again.

Freya descended from a long line of Alphas, starting with Saladin Cree, the founder of her line. It was Tyr’s duty to both his own bloodline and to the Nietzschean people to mix his genes with those of worthy females and create strong, intelligent and resilient offspring that would one day recreate his now-extinct Pride. It was high time that he began with that. He had wasted too many years already.

He put the double helix back into its box, pulled out the black leather chair that once had belonged to Gaheris Rhade and switched on the log that was now his. The message he was creating seemed, for the casual reader, just some business information for Ferahr Kalinga, his reliable contact and almost-friend on Haukin Tau Drift. However, for someone who was able to decode it – and currently Ferahr was the only such person – it contained a second layer, which Ferahr was supposed to forward to the addressee.

Considering the fact that Tyr himself had no idea where said addressee could be right now, it wasn’t an easy task. But he knew Ferahr’s abilities to find persons nobody else would be able to hunt down. That was why he asked Ferahr, instead of a number of other possible contacts, to deliver the message. It was of paramount importance that this message be delivered.

It was a highly formal request to Freya to re-establish contact with him.


	2. The First Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr has an important meeting on Meitner Drift, and we get to see Infinity Atoll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of dialogue are modified versions of what was said in _Double Helix._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 1 - The First Steps**

Meitner Drift was one of the places Tyr would never want to revisit. Ever. It was the sort of space settlement that always seemed to be on the verge of breaking apart, due to the one or other technical failure. Not a place any self-respecting Nietzschean would set foot on of his own free will.

Which made it eminently well-suited for this particular meeting.

That, and the fact that it was the place where Harper had been sent to fix that G-array before taking off to join the pan-galactic surfing competition on Infinity Atoll, and Tyr had volunteered to pick him up, saying that he had some old business to wrap up here.

Which, in a sense, was the truth.

He docked the _Maru_ , paid the usual fee – including the usual bribe; one did not risk docking any spaceborn vessel at Meitner Drift without bribing the dockmaster, not if one wanted to find it again upon one’s return, that is – and went to find Harper first. Learning the unpredictable human’s whereabouts was his first imperative, as he couldn’t move on to his other, more important goal until he had done what he’d been actually sent here for.

Going to Drift Security was a task that made Tyr hate Meitner Drift even more. Not majorly because there still existed various charges on him, for assault and battery, mayhem and attempted murder. Those things hadn’t happened on this drift, and the officials usually ignored what had happened on other places, as long as the visitors paid for the service offered.

No, the main cause of Tyr’s reluctance to go to the security office was the very person of the head of Drift Security.

Lieutenant Nehemiah Falco was a half-breed – the result of an assumedly less-than-voluntary union of a Nietzschean father and a human mother, equally despised by both races… which, understandably, didn’t make him a very nice person. He was bigger than the average human, but considerably smaller than Tyr, which wasn’t unusual (even most Nietzscheans were), and his forearm spikes, too, were smaller than those of an average Nietzschean male – another sign of his half-breed status.

What he had inherited in full extent, though, was the typical Nietzschean attitude. So much of it, in fact, that Tyr suspected Drago-Kazov blood in his veins – the Dragans were, as a rule, muscle-bound cretins – although nobody knew anything for certain about Falco’s father. Or about his mother, for that matter. Everything said about the questionable origins of the sturdy, strawberry-blond security chief was either rumour or gossip.

Which was understandable, for both sides of the affair, actually. Had he been the result of a voluntary mating, it would have been a shame for his Nietzschean parent. Wasting one’s precious genes on a _kludge_ woman was considered… well, not exactly a crime but extremely low style. It showed that no Nietzschean woman had found him worthy for breeding, which was the ultimate shame, even for the lowliest, prideless Beta. Had he, on the other hand, been the result of casual rape, which happened all too often on Drago-Kazov controlled worlds, it was understandable that the human parent preferred to remain silent about it. In case she was still alive, that is. Giving birth even to a half-Nietzschean child wasn’t exactly a safe thing for a mere human.

When Tyr strode into the office, Lt. Falco was standing in front of the back wall, checking a long row of security monitors. He preferred to stand, as his bulk usually gave him the advantage of intimidating the shit out of the petty criminals whom he was dealing with on the daily basis, before even having said a word.

In Tyr’s towering presence it didn’t really work, of course. So he reacted to the Kodiak the way he always did when facing full-blooded Nietzscheans – with a scowl.

“What do you want?” he scoffed.

This little display of bad tempers failed to impress Tyr, however. Being bad-tempered was something he had developed to an art-form years ago.

“I’m looking for a human named Seamus Zelazny Harper,” he replied calmly. “He should have arrived from Infinity Atoll two days ago. I want to know if he actually has.”

“Your _kludge_ running away from you?” Falco asked with a smile as genuine as the given word of a Nightsider.

“He is not my _kludge_ ,” Tyr answered in disgust; a half-breed speaking about humans like that was really low class, he found. “Nor is it any business of yours. Just tell me whether he’s here or not.”

“And how much is this information worth for you?” Falco asked smugly.

Tyr shrugged. He was certainly not going to bargain with this inferior creature. Not that he’d consider _every_ half-breed inferior by default – his father’s housekeeper sprang to his mind as a glorious example on the contrary – but _this_ man was definitely a complete waste of Nietzschean genes, regardless how he’d come to their possession.

“It can save me time… and you a broken nose, if given freely,” he said.

Falco eyed him suspiciously, as if measuring whether he was serious. Of course, Nietzscheans seldom joked, and if they did, it was even worse for the participants of the joke, especially when said participant was _not_ a Nietzschean. So the security chief wisely decided to cooperate and checked the logs of the last two days for Harper.

He found nothing.

“It seems, your… _human_ hasn’t arrived yet, Nietzschean,” he said. “Unless he came aboard secretly, as a blind passenger.”

Tyr frowned. Harper had no reason to sneak onto the Drift secretly – at least none that he would know about. Maybe the dockmaster could give him some more information; it was more likely that he remembered Harper, being a Perseid and working with ships himself.

Tyr turned around and left the security office, without bothering to thank the security chief for his efforts.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The dockmaster, being a Perseid, looked very much like other Perseids did. Tyr had never looked long enough at one of them to notice any differences. They were all hairless, with metallic-looking bluish-grey skin and extended, intricately ridged chins that had earned them the less than flattering nickname _chinheads_ , way back when they first met with humans several thousand years previously. And while Nietzscheans rarely used nicknames given other races by mere humans, Tyr had to admit that this one was, indeed, a perfect fit.

Despite the fact that he barely reached to the big Nietzschean’s collarbone, the Perseid didn’t seem intimidated by Tyr’s size – or by his menacing look. What was more, Tyr had the feeling that the Perseid’s self-confidence – unlike Falco’s – wasn’t just a show. It was hard to guess a Perseid’s age, but the dockmaster had an air of vast experience about him that saved him from panicking easily.

 _Him_ being relative, of course.

Even though Tyr _knew_ , intellectually, that Perseids were as much female as they were male, he involuntarily thought of them as males. Most other people did the same, for reasons none of them could really explain. Neither could Tyr; he only knew that his particular Perseid dockmaster, with his bald skull, high forehead, strong aquiline nose and generous mouth looked to him as a well-respected man in his prime.

He decided to treat the man accordingly. He couldn’t know when he might need some favour from the steely-eyed creature, and dockmasters as a general rule were to be kept in a mellow mood.

“Do you know a human engineer by the name of Seamus Zelazny Harper?” he asked in the manner Nietzscheans used when dealing with strangers they respected for some reason. “He was sent here to fix a G-Array, a few days ago.”

The Perseid seemed to recognize the respectful manner he was handled with, because he nodded benevolently. “I remember. He did a good job, in an astonishingly short time. That young man does have a way with machines. Too bad he left for Infinity Atoll right afterwards. I could’ve used him on at least four places, and he could have earned good money.”

Tyr managed to extract the only piece of useful information from the Perseid’s chatter with relative ease.

“You mean he hasn’t returned yet?” he asked with a frown. That was… simply unbelievable. That little _kludge_ certainly knew how to push his envelope, didn’t he? Dylan hadn’t been happy to learn that Harper had taken a detour without bothering with such technicalities as asking for his captain’s permission to begin with. Now, he’d be furious.

 _If_ he knew that Harper still hadn’t returned, that is. But that was a piece of information Tyr didn’t plan to share with the good captain yet, despite being in hailing range from the _Andromeda_. Harper’s absence without leave provided him, quite unexpectedly, with more time for working on his plan, and he welcomed the chance.

He might even consider covering the little professor, should Harper offer him anything useful in exchange.

Not paying any more attention to the Perseid’s continued babbling about the surfing competition still going on, Tyr nodded curtly, thanked the dockmaster with all the politeness a Nietzschean could manage to display for a chinhead, and left.

It was time to approach his second, incomparably more important goal. He would simply pick Harper up on Infinity Atoll later. He didn’t mind to feel true sunshine on his face for a change, and he hoped that Freya wouldn’t, either.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Deciding where Freya might be waiting for him – if she had, in fact, come here at all – was a delicate matter, as he didn’t know her very well to begin with. Checking the Drift Directory, he discarded the idea of the Nightsider-owned casino, offering Flash and other narcotics as a sideline business, not to mention a wide variety of types of entertainment, raging from boringly harmless through downright idiotic to flat-out deadly. He didn’t think that Freya would drink, gamble or partake of any illicit substances. She was too strong for that.

He didn’t think he’d find her in the Chichin-owned bars, the human gambling emporiums or in the Than equivalent of a cantina, either. Meitner Drift being a fairly insignificant place when it came to eating places, it left _The Philosopher’s Café_ , a shadowy bar run by a Mandau Pride Beta – a crippled veteran who, due to an arm lost in some backfired kidnapping mission, couldn’t feed the impressive army of his children any other way.

Tyr had never been on Meitner Rift before, but he’d heard from other mercenaries that this was a good place to visit, and one of the owner’s wives an excellent cook. He welcomed the change. Aboard the _Andromeda_ , the only way to get some proper food was to cook for himself, and while he was good at it, after a while it became bothersome.

Stepping into the _Café_ felt like coming home – even if only for a short time. He hadn’t realized how much he'd missed being among his own people. Sure, these were mostly Mandau Pride mercenaries – old acquaintances of the owner, no doubt – but at least they were Nietzscheans.

Tyr was among his own, surrounded by strong men in leather and metal, with spiked forearms, well-trimmed goatees and either short-cropped or tightly bound hair. There were a few women among them, displaying the same over-confident attitude as their males. They wore a Sabra crest on their leather vests, were dark-skinned and almond-eyed, with curly black hair and a sort of wild, almost animal magnetism only Nietzschean women of a good bloodline were capable of emanating.

No sign of Freya, so far. But it was interesting to know that Sabra Pride ventured this far from their usual territory. Things between them and the Jaguars must have heated up lately.

Tyr filed away the fact for later consideration and looked around to find an empty table. There was one near the front door and he took it immediately, glad to have a clear path of escape, should things become ugly. There was always a good chance for _that_ to happen when Nietzscheans were involved.

A boy about the age of twelve came to his table and offered him the menu on a hand-held electronic display. Tyr gave it a cursory look and ordered a meat and vegetable stew containing beets, parsnips and carrots, a green salad and pears poached in wine. Unlike other Nietzscheans, who spent their lives in abundance, _he_ had learned to value small comforts. He tossed his credit chit to the boy, hoping that the rumours would prove right and the food good. The exclusively Nietzschean clientele filling half the _Café_ seemed content enough.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The boy returned with his food and the credit chit. There was still no sign of Freya, and Tyr began to doubt whether she had come at all. A formal request was usually honoured among Nietzscheans, even if the one making it was unworthy. But he couldn’t know for sure just how angry and disappointed Freya might be. He _had_ betrayed her people, after all; made them homeless and abandoned her to a fate he knew all too well himself.

In any case, it was Freya’s turn to act now, and since he _needed_ nourishment, he could just as well eat while he was waiting. Tomorrow morning, he would set off for Infinity Atoll to pick up Harper. But these few hours – and the following night – were his to settle his own affairs.

The food was, indeed, excellent, and Tyr relished in the luxury having it provided for him. When he finished, the boy took away the dishes, and shortly thereafter another boy appeared on his left – a small kid, probably seven or eight years old – and looked up at him with big, surprisingly earnest eyes.

“Kodiak,” he said in a low, soft voice, “you are sought after.”

“By whom?” Tyr asked, as he couldn’t be certain that the child had been sent by Freya. People who wanted to hire him had been known to use children to establish contact before.

“A woman,” the boy whispered. “Gold-haired. Blue-eyed. Clad in black. Sad.”

Well, that settled it. The woman _might_ have been Freya, after all. Or else the bait in a trap.

“Where is she?” Tyr asked with a barely audible growl.

“Outside,” the thin, spiked arm of the child gestured towards the sorry excuse of a garden area Meitner Drift could offer. “By the fountain.”

With that, the boy retreated hurriedly, mingling with the other children – possibly the owner’s own offspring – assigned to do small tasks in the _Café_.

Tyr rose without hesitation. Whether Freya was truly willing to listen to his explanation and consider his offer or was planning to lure him in a trap, he had to go. He had been the one initiating this meeting. He couldn’t back off now in any way that would have been considered honourable.

Of course, most people – especially those enslaved by Nietzscheans – would say that the _Über_ race had no honour whatsoever to begin with. And from their point of view, they might even be right.

The truth, however, was a little more complicated – as usual.

Nietzscheans certainly couldn’t care less for other people’s interpretation of honour. As they considered themselves superior, they didn’t see any advantage in following the morale restrictions of inferior races. _Especially_ those of the mother race that had brought forth their own, driven by the urge to produce something better than themselves.

Nonetheless, Nietzscheans had their own code of honour – event though it might seem barbaric and selfish to other people – and followed this code religiously. More so since this was the closest thing to religion they could ever have in a culture based on social Darwinism and the survival of the fittest.

One commandment of this code of honour was that if one filed a request in the formal manner – used only for the purpose of offering an alliance, proposing a marriage, declaring a challenge or other similar occurrences – one could not back off until the request was either granted or denied, in the same formal manner.

This was one of the very few cases when one was allowed to take great risks; in such cases the code of honour overrode even the highest Nietzschean imperative: the need to survive. Dishonouring a formal request was considered a proof of inferiority, in the area of intelligence and willpower.

Something an Alpha couldn’t afford.

Contrary to common prejudice, not all Nietzscheans bred for muscle alone. Among Kodiak, values like knowledge, art, intelligence and wisdom had been held in just as high regard as physical strength, piloting skills or tactical instincts had been.

And that was exactly why Tyr had to take the risk of entering Meitner Drift’s maze-like, pathetic garden area, with its crippled trees, puny bushes, yellow grass and holographic fountain. This Drift couldn’t afford to waste precious water for mere aesthetic purposes. Thus while the basin of the fountain was real, molded from cheap plastic to simulate marble, the springing and dancing water above the wide, shallow upper dish was pure illusion.

Tyr spotted Freya as soon as he stepped out from under the ridiculous excuse of trees. She was leaning again the basin of the fountain, so that the holographic water seemed to fall down onto her pale face like spring rain. She was clad in black leather: pants, boots and a sleeveless vest; only her bracers were the same plated metal as earlier. Her long, straight blonde hair flowed down her back like molten gold.

She was as beautiful as Tyr remembered her, with those large, blue-grey eyes that always reminded him of the seas on the Kodiak homeworld of his birth, before it had been bombed to hell by the Drago-Kazov. But there stood bitterness and pain written in her once so proud and unconcerned face, and Tyr felt a stab of wasted guilt, knowing that it had been his hand, marking those elegant features with sorrow.

He stopped about a meter and a half from her, looking out for any possible assassins with half an eye, all his senses on alert. The fact that Freya had decided to honour his request didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try taking her vengeance by having him killed later.

Or by killing him with her own two hands. Aside from the lack of physical strength to fight him in hand-to-hand combat, Freya was quite capable of killing him in at least a dozen other ways if he wasn’t careful. Which was one of the reasons he wanted her on his side.

Somehow, Freya must have felt his presence, because she raised her head and stared him directly in the eyes. Her expression was cautious… uncertain.

“You requested to speak with me,” she said in an even voice, “so speak. What do you want from me?”

“I wish to correct a grave mistake I have made,” he replied. “I wish to regain that which I have lost due to a wrong choice.”

“So, you have overstayed your welcome by your _kludge_ friends and are now considering joining our Pride, after all?” Freya asked with a cold smile. “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that, Tyr. You’ve betrayed us, destroyed our home… you’ve had your vengeance. Are you still not content?”

“I don’t want to join Orca Pride,” Tyr answered calmly. “I want _you_ to come with me. To live with me aboard the _Andromeda_ , as my First Wife.”

“And help Captain Hunt restore the Commonwealth, so that civilization my return to the galaxies?” Freya raised an ironic eyebrow.

“Oh, please!” Tyr gave a derisive snort. “You can’t truly believe that I’ve bought into Dylan’s idiotic quest of noble sacrifice and honourable self-destruction!”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Freya said slowly, bitterly, “for I don’t know anymore who you are – the man I fell in love with or the mercenary who betrayed us and made us homeless. But if Hunt hasn’t managed to convert you yet, why have you signed onto his crew?”

“Because it has improved my means to a goal toward which I’ve been working since the day I broke out of the mines of Xochitl. I availed myself of the _Andromeda Ascendant_. Some day, the ship will belong to me.”

Freya shook her head. “Hunt would not lose his ship by force. We tried that – and failed, thanks to _you_.”

“Had Guderian not been such a lousy tactician with a complete lack of imagination, I wouldn’t have turned against him,” Tyr said dryly. “I never chose the losing side – and neither should you.”

“And _you_ are supposed to be the winning side?” Freya asked with deep irony. “What do you want to do with that ship? And, more importantly, how do you intent to seize it?”

“There are other ways,” Tyr shrugged. “I’m about to familiarize myself with the territory and waiting for my chance. It will come, sooner or later.”

“More later, seems to me,” Freya said. Tyr shrugged again.

“I have time. And while I work on it, I can also work on my long-term goals. One of which is the rebuilding of my Pride.”

“A noble goal,” Freya said. “And what place have you imagined for _me_ in this grand plan, Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa? How do you feel for me?”

The question, asked in full formal mode, demanded an equally serious answer. So Tyr answered with the words he had once addressed to Guderian.

“Look at me, Freya. I’m alone. I’m childless. I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove myself, so that a female would claim me for her own. You _have_ claimed me! I’d have the chance to be what every fibre in my being strives to be – a husband and a father – if only you’d choose to come with me.”

“True enough,” Freya said with a sad little smile. “And you proved your worth against our males. You outsmarted us. You’d be a worthy father indeed. But you also betrayed us. You abandoned _me_. And killing us would have been less painful than what we must now endure. You are an unworthy husband, and I had to face my people’s wrath because of you.”

“They blamed _you_ for what I have done?” Tyr shook his head in disbelief. “How… predictably inferior.”

“They tried to _kill_ me, Tyr,” Freya replied.

“One reason more to come with me,” Tyr argued. “My quarters aboard the _Andromeda_ are large enough for a big family. We can have our own Pride, Freya. And when we have children of our own, we can seek out a small planet, out of the way, with only a small colony of settlers, in a system that won’t be easily found. There _are_ such planets out there, planets where we’d be safe. And when our children grow into adulthood, they’ll help us to take back what’s rightfully ours. To wrestle back the Progenitor’s remains from the Drago-Kazov and reclaim our birthright in Nietzschean society.”

“ _Our_ birthright, Tyr?” Freya echoed, with faint irony in her voice. Tyr looked at her in all sincerity.

“I offer you an alliance, Freya, most worthy progeny of Saladin Cree,” he said formally, signalling that he was stating his honest intentions. “I offer you the rank and position of the Matriarch of the new Kodiak Pride. I offer you the chance to reunite the Prides with me and to make our people what they were supposed to be: like living gods, roaming the stars, bringing knowledge and civilization to their inhabitants. Do you accept?”

Freya looked at him with a bit of shock.

“Isn’t that a little too big a destiny for a single man without a Pride?” she asked. “Unless you are the genetic reincarnation of the Progenitor, of course. But if you were that, we’d have already heard of it by now – or you’d have been long dead.”

“I’m not a perfect match,” Tyr admitted slowly, “but I’m close enough. The closest one that ever happened in our Pride. You know what that means.”

Freya nodded. “Kodiak Pride was known of their genetic closeness to the Progenitor and of genetic reincarnations happening among them. Wasn’t your own father the genetic double of a previous Alpha, Suleiman?”

“He was indeed,” Tyr smiled, impressed, once again, by Freya’s knowledge of his bloodline.

“So, if you are such a close match, even as Kodiak go, then _this_ ,” she touched her belly briefly, “might be the real item.”

Tyr’s eyes widened in surprise. “Freya… are you…?”

“We’ll have a child, yes,” Freya nodded. “Olma and the others weren’t happy when I decided to keep the baby – they wanted no trace of you among us – but I couldn’t let it die. For some reason, I always felt that it had to live, no matter what. And it seems that I was right. So… I guess the best solution for all three of us is when I accept your offer.”

Tyr grinned, unexpected happiness lifting the burden off his heard. “I’m honoured, lady mine. Now; what do you think about a short visit to Infinity Atoll?”

Freya’s blue eyes lit up like a sunny summer day. “Can we afford the delay?”

“Certainly. In fact, I have to pick up the _Andromeda_ ’s engineer there, who happened to take a leave – without bothering to ask our esteemed captain first. It’s his hide Dylan will tan for being late, not ours.”

“In that case – when do we start?”

“First time in the morning. Do you have any packing to do?”

“No. Everything I need is here… and here,” and Freya gently touched first Tyr’s chest then her own belly where their unborn child was slumbering.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Infinity Atoll was the dream of every surfer and sun-worshipper in incarnate form. A pleasant aquatic world, with vast oceans that covered eighty-nine per cent of the planet’s surface, tropical islands where air-breathers could enjoy the sunshine and, of course, the best waves to ride in three galaxies. At least so stated the advertisement created – and paid for – by the local Free Trade Alliance boss and surfing enthusiast Ronnie “Big Kahuna” Poipa. Who, by the way, was the host and sponsor of the famous Pan-Galactic Surfing Championship that took place on Infinity Atoll every three years.

The Championship itself was already over when Tyr and Freya arrived on the _Maru_ , having done most of the way on autopilot, being busy with celebrating their reunion, but most of the participants were still down on the one or another beach, catching waves, skimming through half pipes and basically wallowing in the water. Finding Harper among them would have been a real pain, had Tyr not come to the idea of scanning for the engineer’s dataport. It had some sort of repelling field, keeping the water out of it, and a scanner could locate it easily, if calibrated correctly.

“There he is,” Tyr pointed out the slender form of the young man, paddling towards the shore, letting the wave's momentum catch up to him, and then he popping up on the board, shooting the curl. Freya watched Harper catching the waves in and cresting them with no problem at all twice more. She shook her head.

“I can’t see what people find so fascinating in this… _surfing_. It’s positively suicidal.”

“I don’t really understand it, either,” Tyr admitted. “But according to Harper, it has to be something about control. Riding the waves, conquering the elements and mastering them… that sort of thing.”

As if sensing that someone was watching him, Harper chanced a glance at the shore, spotted them and waved enthusiastically. Tyr gestured to him to come out, and he nodded and started to paddle towards the shore again, then stood up, dragging his board behind him. Tyr shook his head tolerantly, enjoying basking in the sun with his wife in his arms. It _was_ good to feel real sunshine on his face again.

Freya, still curious, watched Harper wading out of the water – a scrawny little _kludge_ with spiky hair and laughing blue eyes, an excited grin plastered all over his small face. It was hard to believe that this fragile thing had created the weapon that had killed a hundred thousand Nietzscheans back in the past. 

Nevertheless, that was the truth.

“It seems I’ll have to re-evaluate my opinion about _kludges_ ,” Freya said thoughtfully; during their flight, between bouts of lovemaking, Tyr had told him a great deal about the _Andromeda_ ’s recent adventures. “Weak as they may be, it seems that some of them are rather cunning. Especially those we wouldn’t expect to be.”

“It’s tactically unwise to underestimate a worthy opponent – or an ally,” Tyr nodded. “Assuming that all non-Nietzscheans would be automatically useless and inferior, as way too many of our people seem to think, would be foolish. The universe never makes things that easy. Arrogance can cause the downfall of a person. Or a Pride. Or even an entire race. If we want to succeed, we’ll need allies – and unusual alliances can prove very profitable.”

“You worked with humans before, didn’t you?” Freya asked. “In your time as a mercenary.”

Tyr shrugged. “I needed a team. Not even I can handle every situation single-handedly. They were idiots; cannon fodder, nothing else. But they served their purpose. With the _Andromeda_ crew, it is different. Some of them are truly promising.”

“Like him?” Freya nodded towards Harper.

“Like him,” Tyr agreed. “He has great potential; a talent that’s wasted on the _Andromeda_ , distracting himself with mundane tasks fit for drones. Maybe one day we can make him a better offer.”

“Maybe, but would he accept?” Freya’s doubt was unmistakable. “Would he be willing to live among Nietzscheans, out of his own free will?”

“That’s hard to tell,” Tyr answered, “but I’d like to try – once we _have_ something to offer.” Then, turning to Harper who finally reached the shore, he added. “Harper, how kind of you to finally join us! Dylan is quite mad about your sudden decision to take the scenic route home.”

“Well, I’ll have to think of something to beswitch him, big guy,” Harper laughed, stealing a curious glance at Freya. “I see you haven’t been lonely. Care to introduce me to the lady?”

Tyr raised an eyebrow. “Why, Harper, I thought you’d recognize my wife. You’ve seen vids about our actions on the Orca asteroid, after all.”

For several minutes, Harper was simply gaping for air like a beached Castalian.

“Oh, man,” he finally said. “You’ve just solved my problem. I think Dylan will be too shocked to skin me for the delay. Oooh, that’s something I _have_ to see! What are you waiting for? Let’s go home!


	3. Allegiances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Hunt and Rommie leave for Arazia, Tyr seeks out new alliances - with success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of dialogue are modified versions of what was said in _A Rose in the Ashes_.
> 
> The credit for the different kinds of discourse in Nietzschean culture goes to Kit Mason, in whose story _The Recreation of the Warrior_ true gems such nature can be found – not all canon but almost better than that. The “Rite of Protection”, however, is my invention. So are the last name of Guderian, his First Wife, and the names of his parents.
> 
> For visuals, Deborah wears the looks of Marjean Holden, aka Dr. Sarah Chambers from Crusade. She impressed the hell out of me when beating up some thugs in one of the episodes, so I thought she’d make a spectacular Nietzschean woman.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 2 - Allegiances**

To say that Dylan Hunt was _not_ happy about Tyr returning with a wife – the same wife he’d very nearly betrayed them and handed over the _Andromeda_ to Guderian for – would have been an understatement. Born to Starfire, leader of the small Than hive that had come aboard right after Andromeda’s less-than-friendly encounter with Orca Pride, wasn’t exactly thrilled to share living space with one of the pirates who’d harassed their people for fifty years, either. But Tyr wasn’t in the mood to quarrel with bugs about his personal matters.

“Captain Hunt,” he said in the somewhat lesser version of the formal manner, one that Nietzscheans used while dealing with other races, “have you not said that in your new Commonwealth, there would be room for every race and every culture?”

“I have,” Hunt replied, feeling the trap and clearly unhappy about it. But he couldn’t go back on his own word now.

“Does it include Nietzscheans, too?” Tyr asked coldly. Dylan rolled his eyes.

“Of course it does, Tyr, you know that! Why else should I have asked you to sign up to the _Andromeda_?”

“I could think of several very good reasons,” Tyr replied dryly. “One of them being the fact that you needed someone with actual combat experience. But whatever your reason might have been, I am a member of this crew now. And if you are taking your own recruiting speech seriously, you cannot deny a Nietzschean Alpha to fulfil his genetic imperative: to have a family and to father children.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, then Rev Bem stirred at his console.

“Dylan,” he said slowly in that grating voice of his, “Tyr is right. If you want to convince people about the sincerity of your intentions, you must respect the cultural imperatives of other races. And Nietzschean culture _is_ based on family.”

“Among other things,” Dylan replied darkly. Tyr shrugged.

“You allowed the Than to bring their entire mating group aboard, and they are just observers on your ship. I’m a member of your crew. All I want is to have my family with me. Is that really such an unreasonable thing to ask?”

It would have been strategically unwise to grin, but it was hard to resist. So he just stared at Dylan with a blank face, while Freya eyed him with proprietary pride. They both knew that the captain couldn’t really deny Tyr’s request; not without making all his grand promises meaningless. Dylan knew it just as well; therefore he gave in as gracefully as it was possible in a lose-lose situation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
That had been two weeks ago. At the moment, the _Andromeda_ was orbiting Arazia, a former Commonwealth member – a planet settled by humans, whom Dylan Hunt intended to return to the bosom of the intergalactic community. Tyr was preparing the _Maru_ for launch, as he was supposed to drop Dylan and Rommie off in the Arazian capital. He had decided to take Freya as co-pilot (not that he really needed one), with the argument that he wouldn’t leave his wife behind with a bunch of hostile bugs aboard and no captain to protect her.

Dylan had wisely abstained from the remark that Freya was very well capable of protecting herself and accepted her presence. Had he known that Beka had also agreed to lend Tyr the _Maru_ for an unscheduled trip to Haukin Tau Drift to collect the rest of his belongings, the good captain probably would have been less forthcoming. But since both Tyr and Beka preferred to keep irrelevant details to themselves, Dylan boarded the _Maru_ in a reasonably good mood, with Rommie in tow.

“We’re ready, Tyr, if you are.”

“Always,” Tyr replied with a smirk that earned him a sultry look from Freya and switched on the comm. “This is the _Eureka Maru_ to _Andromeda_ , asking permission to launch.”

“Understood, _Maru_ ,” Beka’s voice answered. “Docking bay ready for launch. Good luck, Dylan. And Tyr, remember…”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘break my ship and I’ll break your neck’, I know the obligatory warning, Captain Valentine,” Tyr answered, grinning, and initiated launch sequence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Beka laughed, shook her head, and gave the _Maru_ permission to launch. She and Trance watched the flawless launch – apparently, Nietzscheans were as perfect when it came to piloting as in most other things - as long as one didn’t accept them to behave towards races they considered inferior, which meant all non-Nietzscheans – then they relaxed, not even pretending to work. Why should they? _Andromeda_ had everything under control, and with Captain High Guard out of their hair, they didn’t need to appear busy when they were not.

Some twenty minutes later, Harper sauntered onto the bridge, waved them with a flimsy he’d picked up somewhere on his way, and dropped into the slipstream chair since it wasn’t needed at the moment.

“I, Seamus Zelazny Harper, the…Exalted Love Machine…of the planet Earth do hereby ordain that when fifty planets have agreed to join the Systems Commonwealth…” he read out loudly and shook his head.

Trance gave him a dubious look, as if guessing whether she should fetch her medical scanner or not. “What are you reading?”

“It's, uh, Dylan's fill-in-the-blanks constitution,” Harper answered in a distracted manner. “I, [state name[, the [state title] of [enter name of planet here], do hereby ordain that when fifty planets and blah blah blah blah...”

Trance grinned. “Oh, _that_ … Do you think the Arazians were big supporters of the Commonwealth in Dylan's day?”

Harper shrugged. “Hell if I know. I’ve never heard about Arazia before.”

Andromeda’s hologram flickered to life on their side. “Actually,” she said, “Arazians were reliable citizens for the Commonwealth. According to my databanks, the planet had a population of one point two billion. Seventy-one per cent were human, twelve per cent Perseid, seven per cent Umbrite, six per cent Tonkin, and four per cent various other races.”

“Then your database really needs an update,” Beka said, “because for the last hundred or so years Arazians developed a real dislike for the outside universe. They’ve had their share of Nietzschean and Magog raids, famine, various interstellar disease epidemics, and who knows what else since the Fall. They’ve become such isolationists that their upper class won’t even speak to outworldlers without hiding under those hideous orange shrouds of theirs.”

“So, what do you think?” Trance inquired, her tail twitching in excitement. “Will the Arazians sign on?”

Harper shrugged again. “Your guess is as good as mine. Actually, it's probably better.”

That earned him a sweet little smile from Trance, but the purple girl looked at the other expectantly. “What do you think?”

“I still believe they’ll be responsive to Dylan’s offer,” the hologram said. “Arazia’s history with the Commonwealth was a long and friendly one. The planet was inducted in 6740, the seventeenth planet in the local cluster to…”

She trailed off because Beka shook her head.

“Do you want to take bets?” the captain of the _Eureka Maru_ , a woman cured from illusions at a very young age, asked.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After having dropped off Dylan and Rommie at Arazia Spaceport – and earning a few nasty ‘Über’-remarks from the locals – Tyr programmed the route for the next slip-point, which was about an hour away. Then he switched on the autopilot and turned to his wife.

“Now that we are on our way, would you care telling my why exactly have you wanted to come with me? We’ve successfully fooled Dylan, but I’d like to know the real reason.”

“Do I need a particular reason?” Freya asked with wide-eyed innocence, which was very obviously faked, as she spoke in the casual manner. “Could I not simply want to spend time with my husband – now that I finally have him back? You know as much as I do that there is no true privacy aboard the _Andromeda_. Even in privacy mode, that damned ship is spying on us all the time.”

There was a very serious undertone in her voice that caught Tyr’s attention immediately. Now they were approaching the truth.

“So, we have some business that you wanted to discuss with me, without _Andromeda_ – or Dylan – listening?” he asked.

Freya nodded. “I have a message for you. A recorded message, which I haven’t been able to deliver so far, because of the lack of privacy.”

“Who sends it?” Tyr had a fairly good idea, but he couldn’t be sure. Not before he had actually watched the message.

“Guderian,” at Tyr’s blank stare Freya shrugged. “You didn’t really believe that under our current circumstances I could have simply stolen a ship to meet you?”

“So Guderian knew that you were about to meet me?” Tyr asked, just to be sure, although the answer was fairly obvious.

“He was the one to take me to Meitner Drift,” Freya replied calmly. “He had some business with the local branch of Mandau Pride and offered me a lift. I accepted. I could have returned to my people with him, had our meeting gone wrong.”

“Well, you didn’t really have many choices,” Tyr admitted, however reluctantly. “But what would Guderian want from me?”

“View the message,” Freya handed him a small disc.

“Do you know what it is?” Tyr asked. She nodded.

“Of course. But I’m not authorized to tell you. This business is solely between the two of you.”

Tyr hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and inserted the disc into the _Maru_ ’s decoder. The computer demanded a voice print identification; he gave it, and Guderian’s face appeared on the viewscreen.

“This is a recorded message from Guderian Rasmussen, out of Ekaterina by Vladimir, First Alpha of Orca Pride, to Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa of Kodiak Pride,” the very formal introduction alone suggested the seriousness of Guderian’s intentions. The Orca leader looked exhausted, his eyes were haunted. Tyr had the feeling he was looking at a beaten man.

“You have bested me, Anasazi, and caused the downfall of me and my Pride,” Guderian continued after a pause. “You’ve had your vengeance for the so-called betrayal of my people; I hope it makes you happy. But even if it does not, you have beaten me…beaten all of us. Therefore, in order to save my Pride, I see no other choice than to admit my defeat and invoke the Rite of Protection, which I hereby do. According to the ancient laws and customs of our people, the fate of Orca Pride now lies in your hands.”

With that, the message ended abruptly. Tyr stared at the empty viewscreen in stunned disbelief. The Rite of Protection hadn’t been invoked since the early days of the Nietzschean people, or so they said. Admitting ultimate defeat and handing over one’s Pride to the mercy of a winner, just to save them, was too much of a humiliation for a First Alpha.

“Do you have any part of this?” Tyr asked Freya. She shook his head.

“No; it was Guderian’s decision alone. I informed him when your message arrived, of course. No… don’t give me _that_ look, Kodiak! Guderian is… _was_ the leader of my people for many years, and he had been a good one, before you came. I owe him my allegiance. Especially now that he lost against you and his position has been weakened considerably as a result.”

“So much that he saw it necessary to make such a drastic step?” Tyr still couldn’t quite believe it. Freya nodded.

“Dimitri thinks his time has finally come. He kept scheming against Guderian; has already tried to assassinate him once, threatened his wives and children. He’s failed and gone into hiding, but next time he might succeed. Without a homeworld, without a strong leader to protect them, our people are vulnerable. They are but a small Pride, they need leadership.”

“They are not _my_ people,” Tyr said dismissively. “Why should I care?”

“They are now,” Freya replied, “by the blood of our child and by ancient law. Guderian has made the ultimate sacrifice for our people’s sake when he willingly yielded his power and authority to you. This is a responsibility you cannot refuse to accept. _Especially_ not in case our child should turn out to be the Progenitor.”

Truth be told, Tyr actually _could_ have refused the responsibility. The Rite of Protection was a custom so ancient that it was largely forgotten. On the other hand, however, Guderian’s offer provided him with the chance to extend his influence among his own people. Orca Pride might be small and insignificant, but it had three hundred combatants – which was exactly three hundred more than Tyr could have hoped for only two weeks ago.

Not that they could have been trusted, of course. Not yet, anyway. Not before he had tested their sincerity, their strength, and their abilities. But it would be a beginning.

“I need to speak with Guderian about this,” he said carefully.

“He’ll be waiting for you on Haukin Tau Drift upon our arrival,” Freya replied simply. “Your old contact, Ferahr, agreed to set up a meeting in his office. On neutral ground, so to say.”

Tyr raised an eyebrow. “You were awfully certain that I’d agree to meet Guderian, weren’t you?”

“Of course,” Freya said with a small, cynical smile. “He offers you power and influence, the chance to feel superior, and all that at a time that matches with your future plans nicely. Which Nietzschean would be able to refuse _that_?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Several hours later they were walking through the corridors of Haukin Tau Drift like a couple of highly alert predators. With half an eye, Tyr watched Freya, as she took in every detail of her surroundings and ignored them once they proved not to be a threat, approvingly. She had excellent instincts – a very useful trait that she’d hopefully transfer to their child.

They passed a wide variety of shops, food stores, rent rooms, meeting places for business, and other establishment that shared the limited space of the drift and the fleeting attention of its inhabitants. Tyr paid them no attention at all, and even Freya only gave the clothes shops a casual glance. As a rule, Nietzschean women were just as interested in clothes and shopping as the females of any other species, but they were also eminently pragmatic. Today, they were here for more important business, and Freya knew her priorities.

Besides, they still could go shopping later.

Ferahr’s ‘office’, if one could call a large, windowless and hopelessly cluttered room an office, was situated at the centre of the drift. It had an open area in the middle, enough for about half a dozen people, but around it the walls were covered by shelves, stuffed with an amazing variety of objects that seemed different every time Tyr came by. In fact, even the large desk opposite the entrance was barely visible under the piles of junk that would have been hard to recognize.

People possessing as much as a vague tendency for fastidiousness usually stated that Ferahr Kalinga was a slob, and for a long time Tyr had agreed with that statement. Until he happened to visit Harper’s quarters for the first time. On that day the word slob had achieved a whole new meaning in his vocabulary, and he came to the conclusion that Ferahr was actually tidiness in person. It was strange, that Harper, precision incarnate in the machine shop, would live in a place that disturbingly reminded of a dung heap. Maybe it was an Earth thing.

Freya, who hadn’t had the questionable privilege of seeing Harper’s quarters yet, looked around with mild distaste.

“What kind of business exactly is this…associate of yours conducting?” she asked. Tyr shrugged.

“I never cared to ask; besides, it seems to change daily. What counts is that he’s proven himself reliable.”

“Has he? Where is he then?”

“Where I’m supposed to be, lady,” a rotund man with a pale, unhealthy complexion and short, curly hair of the colour of dirty sand popped up from behind the desk. “And a good day to you, too. Oh, hey, and there’s really no need to thank me for setting up this meeting with you in my own office, no less.”

Tyr shrugged. “I’m sure you haven’t done it out of the goodness of your heart. There _is_ a price included, isn’t it?”

Ferahr swallowed whatever he was chewing on. “Yeah. As always.”

Tyr grinned. “Then what possible reason do I have to thank you?”

“Right, why start now?” Ferahr shook his head. Before he could launch a lament about the ungrateful nature of the _Übers_ , however, Freya cut him short.

“Where are my people?” she demanded.

Ferahr shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? This Alpha guy said he’d be here upon your arrival. If he’s not, s’not my fault. Oh, and by the way, Tyr, do you think maybe you could… well, reschedule?”

Tyr raised both eyebrows as a sign of his displeasure. “Why would I want to do that?”

Ferahr squirmed a little in his seat, which was a rather… off-putting sight by someone of his impressive girth.

“Well, uh, _reschedule_ is probably not the right word… I was more thinking along the line of _relocating_. To somewhere, y’know, where’s _safer_.”

“Does that mean we won’t be safe here?” Freya asked coldly.

Ferahr scratched his stubby chin and gave her a sour look. “I meant safer for _me_ , lady. Look, Tyr, I’m just a simple businessman, a small fish in the pond…”

Tyr rolled his eyes. This fishing for sympathy really didn’t work by someone of the human’s size. “Ferahr, you are many things, neither of them is simple or small,” he replied, listening to the sound of three sets of footsteps approaching the office from down the hall. Apparently, Guderian hadn’t come alone. _Maybe Ferahr’s concerns aren’t that unreasonable, after all_.

“Whatever,” the human growled. “I really can’t afford to get in the middle of… uh, whatever you got going with your buddies.”

“I don’t think I'd call myself the Kodiak’s _buddy_ , under these circumstances,” the bitter voice of Guderian said from the doorway as the footsteps arrived.

Tyr turned and saw the Orca leader arrive, accompanied by two women. One of them was Olma, the Matriarch of their Pride, the other one a tall, amazon-like woman, olive-skinned, dark-haired, and almond-eyed. Tyr guessed she had to be Guderian’s First Wife, although he couldn’t remember having seen her on the Orca asteroid. It made sense to bring them along when they were about to discuss important clan business.

"Nor would I,” Tyr agreed; then he turned back to their host. “Ferahr, since you don’t want to get in the middle of whatever we got going, maybe you would excuse us. This is a matter that concerns Nietzscheans only.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” Ferahr protested.

“It would be… safer for you,” Freya pointed out with a feral grin.

Ferahr growled something in a lesser Kalderan dialect but left, albeit reluctantly. Truth be told, he actually liked to watch Tyr interact with other _Übers_ , as long as he could be reasonably certain that he won’t get hurt.

Guderian waited until the human got out of earshot, then he looked Tyr directly in the eyes.

“Let’s get over with it,” he said flatly. “Since you’d want to make it official, I’ve brought witnesses. I assume you remember Olma. And this is my First Wife, Deborah, out of Judith by Ezekial.”

Tyr inclined his head in Deborah’s direction; she had strong, elegant features, which revealed intelligence and willpower. There couldn’t be any doubt where the true sources of Guderian’s success lay. But her looks were also strangely familiar…

“You are Sabra, aren’t you?” Tyr asked. Deborah nodded.

“From a cadet branch. My father is the Alpha of the Centauris A settlement that you’ve warned about the insane young _kludges_ on the old GS92196 guard station. So, in a manner, I am in your debt. But were I at home during your… visit, well, let me just say that we probably still would _have_ a home – and you wouldn’t have a wife.”

Tyr performed a small but polite bow. “I doubt it not, lady mine, that you’d have been a formidable opponent.”

“And more than that,” Deborah replied coldly. “But what’s done is done, and complaining about things past would be a waste of energy. I was told that you preferred blunt speech – so do I, so let’s be blunt. My husband has invoked the Rite of Protection, despite the protests of our Matriarch,” she added with a look towards Olma; it wasn’t a friendly glance. “I supported him in this decision, as it seemed the best way to ensure our survival. So I ask you now, Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa: is it your intention to honour ancient custom and accept your responsibility towards a Pride that you have made leaderless and homeless?”

Tyr couldn’t help but be impressed. Regardless what other races might believe, among Nietzscheans it was always the Alpha female who made the important decisions and represented Pride or family in matters that could be fateful for the Pride’s survival. The men only executed those decisions. In most cases, it was the prerogative of the Matriarch to fill in this role. Among Orca, Tyr had the feeling that it was rather the First Wife of the Pride Alpha.

Deborah had asked her question in the most formal manner possible. That demanded an equally formal answer. One that contained nothing but the absolute truth; one, the words of which could not on their face be lies, though there was always room for prevarication, of course. Nietzschean customs of formal exchange were strict on this matter: a formal question required an answer that was truthful, unless Tyr wanted to besmirch his own honour. Which he couldn’t and wouldn’t do. Nietzscheans respected their own honour as they respected their will to survive.

At least such had been the old way, although Tyr had to admit that in many Prides 'honour' had long become a meaningless phrase. The fate of Kodiak Pride, fallen victim to the betrayal of its own kind, showed this clearly enough. But even after twenty years spent first as a slave then as a mercenary, the old values of the Kodiak were still alive and strong in Tyr – these values were that which had kept him alive.

“I shall not refuse to take the responsibility for what I have done,” he answered. “My intention is to show Orca Pride a new path in the future – a better future for all Nietzschean people. A future in which we may, once again, become what we were meant to be, not what we are now. _And_ I intend to leave the Orca under your husband’s leadership, lady mine.”

Guderian stared at him in utter disbelief. “You are not taking the Pride from me? Why”

Tyr shrugged. “You are a good First Alpha. You know the people and they know you. I wouldn’t have the time to settle down and care for domestic matters anyway – my destiny lies elsewhere. I very much intend to use the Orca to fulfil my destiny, but I don’t desire to live along them. Instead a takeover, I offer you an alliance – if you prove yourself worthy.”

“Worthy in what way? Have you not just said that I’m a good First Alpha?”

“I have, and you are. But you are also a bad tactician. That’s why I was able to beat you. I still might want your warriors to fight on my side if necessary, but first and foremost I need you to build. To rebuild your home, and to build up enough strength to be of use for me.”

“Rebuild our home?” Guderian repeated bitterly. “Where in the Known Worlds am I supposed to do that?”

Tyr handed him a disc. “Here are several choices. Co-ordinates of worlds too small or too out of the way for bigger Prides to consider for settling. Make the right choice. I’ve visited them all on my journeys – they are hard places, but capable of supporting life. The rest is up to you.”

“But we’ll be unprotected, vulnerable, if we settle down again,” Guderian protested. “At least on our ships…”

“Ships aren’t the right places to raise your children,” Tyr interrupted. “Not in the long run, that is. The disc also contains the specifics of your plasma cannon, the one that has been destroyed. Rebuild it, and you’ll be sufficiently protected.”

“It won’t be easy,” Guderian murmured, but there was hope in his eyes again. Tyr nodded.

“Of course not. But you do want to prove your genetic value, don’t you? You _do_ want to fight on the winning side when the great pattern I’m working on is completed, right?”

Guderian remained silent for a moment. Deborah stood next to him, her face expressionless. This was a decision Guderian had to make for himself: either fight to win back his authority, his Pride and the loyalty of his warriors, or give up and lose his status, his family and become an outcast. Tyr had no doubt that in that case Deborah would divorce him. That woman would never keep an unworthy husband.

“I shall do as my lord wishes,” Guderian finally said, formally. “What else do you want from me?”

Tyr looked at the women. Deborah closed her eyes for a moment in relief, but on Olma’s face, there was cold hatred, and Tyr understood that he’d have to watch out for the Matriarch’s schemes – and so would have Guderian. “I’ll need your contacts to Mandau Pride,” the Kodiak answered. “Not now, but probably soon. Work on it, so that I won’t have to need mediators when the time comes. And I’ll need a few experienced combat pilots who can cause a sufficient distraction.”

Guderian nodded. “I do have the right people. When will you need them?”

“I don’t know yet,” Tyr said with a shrug. “Soon, but I can’t tell yet _how_ soon. I’ll contact you through Ferahr.”

“I shall be ready for your call,” Guderian said formally, and with that, the meeting was over. However, after Olma had rushed out, Deborah turned to Tyr one last time.

“Since we are allies now, I’d offer you a piece of information, Kodiak. You have warned my people; therefore, as I already said, we are in your debt. But doing so, you also caught the attention of Tamerlane Mossadim, the supreme leader of our Pride. He might offer you an alliance – or a deal, whatever would serve his goals best, since he knows that you have access to the most powerful warship of the Known Worlds. He might make you promises that would be hard to refuse. But all he’d really want would be your ship, to use it against Jaguar Pride. Do not trust him.”

“I never trust anyone but myself,” Tyr replied simply. “That’s why I’m still alive.”

Deborah nodded approvingly. “A wise decision. I don’t trust you, either. I know that my Pride is just a pawn in your game – whatever that game might be. But for the time being, I’m willing to give you the benefit of doubt. As long as your actions serve Orca interests.”

Tyr smiled and bowed slightly. “As it should be. I wish you a safe journey, lady mine. Guderian, choose your new home wisely. We’ll remain in touch. Should you need me, Ferahr will know how to make contact. Be well.”

“You, too,” they gave each other the warrior salute, crossing their forearm spikes, then the Orca leader and his wife left. Tyr sighed in relief; things actually went better than he had expected. He looked at his wife.

“I think we should leave, too. Beka is, no doubt, eager to have her ship back. Let me just pay Ferahr, then we can go.”

“Do you have the money to pay him?” Freya asked, a little doubtfully.

“I used to be a well-paid mercenary,” Tyr grinned, “and my customers were frightened enough to pay in advance. I could buy a ship like the _Maru_ without flinching… I just prefer to keep a low profile. Besides, if Dylan knew about my wealth, he might come to the ridiculous idea that I’d want to finance his insane quest.”

“Why do you take your percents from Captain Valentine’s half-legal little business actions then?” Freya asked, shaking her head in amusement. Tyr shrugged.

“Why not? I _do_ help her, don’t I? Besides, there’s nothing wrong with earning more money while Dylan isn’t watching.”

They both laughed, which made the returning Ferahr look at them suspiciously.

“It’s always a dangerous thing when you Niets are in such a good mood,” the rotund human declared sourly. “It usually means that somebody will get hurt.”

“You are absolutely right,” Tyr agreed, “but not this time. We’re leaving, Ferahr. Tell me your price for setting up this little meeting, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“What, no haggling at all?” Ferahr grinned; this was an old joke between the two of them, as Tyr never haggled. He strode in, told what he wanted, and Ferahr got it for him. One didn’t argue with a Nietzschean mercenary of the size of a small planet.

“No time,” Tyr replied. “We are late already. So, how much do I owe you?”

“Actually, I need a favour this time,” Ferahr said “An old…customer of mine is trying to get back to Makrai VII, after having got stuck on El Dorado Drift. She made it from there to here on some Umbrite freighter but found no ships that could take her home.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help, either,” Tyr said with a shrug. “I can’t lose more time, and it’s unlikely that _Andromeda_ would get near Makrai VII any time, soon.”

“But on a ship I still have a better chance to get home than sitting on a drift,” a smoky voice purred from the door.

Tyr whirled around, annoyed that someone had been able to sneak up to him (even if that someone was a Makra who could move practically noiselessly) and saw a sleek, dark figure standing in the doorframe. He’d never met a Makra face-to-face before, as these highly intelligent felinoids seldom left their homeworld, so he looked at this particular representative of that elusive race with interest.

The Makra wasn’t very tall, at least not compared to a Nietzschean. She was roughly of Trance’s size, and reminded him more of a Terran lynx – according to historic records, that is, as Earth didn’t have any remaining wildlife – than a cat, save her colour. For the short, shiny fur covering her body was midnight black, save her face, which was snowy white, as if she wore a mask. Large, amber eyes with diagonal pupils and long, tufted ears completed her appearance. She wore no clothes, save a broad utility belt with many pockets and small bags hanging from it, but due to the fact that she was covered with fur, she didn’t look naked.

“I’m Farrendahl,” she purred, stretching out both arms, extending and then withdrawing her razor sharp claws in the traditional Makra greeting. “Tyr Anasazi, I presume? Ferahr said you’d have place for an additional passenger.”

“I do,” Tyr replied with a frown; he had expected to have some more time alone with his wife, before returning to the total surveillance aboard the _Andromeda_. “But I don’t know what Captain Hunt would say if I simply turned up with you in tow.”

“O-oh, I’m sure I can persuade him to let me stay,” Farrendahl purred. “Makrai VII used to be a valued member of the old Commonwealth; besides, I’m an environmental engineer. I’m sure I could be useful in the hydroponics section of such a big ship.”

Tyr hesitated for a moment, then he shrugged. As he owed Ferahr a favour – a rather big one – he couldn’t simply deny the Makra’s request; and Trance could use help in Hydroponics. Besides, he had the vague hope that the presence of another unexpected passenger would annoy Dylan enough to harass the Makra for a while, and leave him and his wife alone.

“Very well,” he said reluctantly, “I’ll take you with us. But the last word would be Captain Hunt’s. No guarantees.”

The Makra nodded. “No guarantees. I understand. When do we start?”

“As soon as you are ready.”

“I _am_ ready,” the Makra lifted a small carry-all that had been lying at her feet on the floor. “I always travel light.”

“That’s tactically wise,” Tyr said. “Let’s go then.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They reached the _Andromeda_ on schedule and Tyr was happy to be back, for although the Makra proved to be a quiet and discreet passenger, she had something uncanny in her very being that made him… well, uncomfortable. The same way that Trance did – with the not insignificant difference that he couldn’t imagine any malevolent intentions from Trance. Farrendahl, however, was a different matter entirely. He was really, really happy to dock and leave her to Dylan’s old-fashioned hospitality.

Beka’s voice over comm was unusually terse, though. “It’s good to have you back, Tyr – on schedule, and with the _Maru_ in one piece. That’s certainly a first. Have you got any new passengers with you, as usual?”

“Actually, I do. But only temporarily. I’m sure Dylan won’t mind her. She is…”

“Not important at the moment, sorry,” Beka interrupted. “We have bigger problems to face right now. Dylan and Rommie are missing.”


	4. The Jailbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr and Beka organize a jailbreak to pull Hunt's bacon out of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is simply a rewrite of _A Rose in the Ashes_ , and so some of the dialogue is taken from the original episode. And yes, it was a conscious choice to make the Arazian receptionist male.
> 
> The reason for writing this chapter in the first place was that the old cliché of Heroic Captain™ beating single-handedly a weird prison world and its high-tech automated defences by charming the female inmates out of their pea-sized minds angered me to no end. It was a stupid idea during the Original Trek already, and by repetition, it doesn’t get any better. Contrary to what certain screenwriters might think, not all women are idiots. Besides, I’m more for the ensemble action, which is why I left out the events happening on Helios IX completely.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 3 - The Jailbreak**

For a moment Tyr thought he’d misunderstood Beka. “What do you mean you ‘lost’ them?” he demanded.

“I meant that the minute they stepped into the Council Chamber, _Andromeda_ lost the signal,” Beka’s tired voice answered. “That was yesterday.”

“Hmmm,” Tyr thought about it for a moment. “Sounds like a hostage situation to me. All right; I’m coming to the command deck. Hold on for a minute.”

He broke the connection before Beka could have protested and turned to his wife. “Freya, you should escort our…passenger to Trance, so that she could find her some quarters. And please, stay with them. We might have to bail Dylan out of his so-called negotiations; it could become ugly. I want you near to med deck, just in case.”

Freya nodded. Under different circumstances, she’d have taken offence, but in her present condition she agreed with Tyr. Her first imperative right now was to protect her unborn child.

“Don’t worry about us,” she said. Tyr gave her a long hard kiss, then he headed for the command deck.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Reaching his destination, namely the command deck, he found Beka standing at the command position, Harper fixing something with one of the Perseids who’d just joined the crew as ‘observers’ of the Sinti government, and Glittering Starlight, the intelligent and sarcastic Ruby Than in the slipstream chair. While members of the bright red Ruby caste were usually specialists in technology and building, some of them chose to combine those talents with piloting skills and were unbeatable as slipstream pilots. Glittering Starlight had turned out to be one of these rare individuals, and as the tough carapace of the bugs could bear the strain of slipstream piloting better than the average human body – which was the reason that the High Guard had hired Than pilots on its warships – Beka gladly shared pilot duty with her.

One of the dark green Emerald Than warriors was standing at the fire controls but stepped to the side hurriedly as Tyr strode in. All Than had been instructed by their leader, Born To Starfire, _not_ to provoke the ship’s resident Nietzschean – _or_ his wife.

Tyr took over his controls with the familiar feeling of slipping on a pair of well-worn gloves. It gave him a heady feeling of power every time, and he took extra care not the reveal the rush handling _Andromeda_ ’s powerful weapons always gave him.

“Ship,” he said in the clipped tone reserved for emergencies, “arm missile tubes one through twenty for a warning strike outside the Arazian capital.”

Beka swivelled around with the command chair, glaring daggers at him. “Excuse me? Reality check? What if they're starting a third course of a state dinner?”

Tyr gave a derisive snort. “Oh, really?”

“Tyr,” Beka rolled her eyes, “whatever the problem might be, blowing up the countryside would probably not help our situation. In fact, it could get Dylan in grave danger.”

“Or Dylan is already dead, in which case we haven't a thing to lose,” Tyr pointed out in a tone he hoped was reasonable.

Unfortunately, humans had a different idea about reasonable actions – although both Than waggled with their antennae in agreement – and so did, apparently, artificial intelligences with High Guard programming.

“In the old days, we had a way of dealing with situations like this,” the image of _Andromeda_ announced from the computer screen. “We _talked_ to people. Sometimes they even listened.”

“Talked!” Tyr snorted again. “Small wonder the Commonwealth did not prevail. A greater wonder, actually, that it lasted so long.”

Beka glanced at the ceiling, fighting for patience. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to try it. It might actually _work_ , you know.”

“Good luck,” Tyr replied darkly. “You’ll need it.”

Beka shook her head in exasperation. “Nietzscheans and their ‘blow ‘em up first, ask questions later’ policy! _Andromeda_ , contact Councillor Min for me.”

A second later the main viewscreen blinked to life, and a… person, veiled with one of those eye-hurtingly bright orange shrouds, appeared on it.

“Councillor Min's office,” he said; yes, it was definitely a man, although the concept of a man wearing an orange veil seemed silly to Tyr. On the other hand, of course, it was an excellent disguise, especially on a viewscreen, where the voice got modified by electronics and the personal scent couldn’t be recognized. Maybe the Arazians weren’t such fools, after all.

“How do you wish to be announced?” the Arazian representative asked.

Beka straightened in the command chair, wishing for a moment to have Tyr’s looming presence. Sometimes big and menacing worked nicely on bureaucrats.

“This is Beka Valentine, first officer of the starship _Andromeda Ascendant_ ,” she said in the best official tone she could manage. “I'm looking for our captain, Dylan Hunt. He was meeting with the High Council.”

“I'm sorry,” the veil revealed nothing, but the man’s gaze in the eye slits was cold, “I can't help you.”

“I see,” Beka said with deceptive sweetness. “Maybe I should speak to the Councillor directly then. I’m sure _he_ would be able to tell me where his guest of honour might be.”

The receptionist remained completely unfazed. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Do I need one?” Beka asked back in surprise that wasn’t entirely fake. “I don’t want an audience, you know. All I want to ask him is where our captain might be.”

“Councillor Min doesn't talk to anyone without an appointment,” the representative informed her flatly.

“We don't make appointments over such small issues,” Tyr growled with barely suppressed rage. This was getting ridiculous, and his patience started running out.

“That’s your problem, not mine,” the receptionist said. It sounded positively bored. Didn’t the idiot realize the danger _Andromeda_ could represent for his planet?

“I am sitting in the command chair of a High Guard battleship orbiting your planet,” Beka said in a tightly controlled voice. “Two words from me and a barrage of kinetic warheads will blast you, Councillor Min, and three generations of Arazians back to the Stone Age!”

The receptionist didn’t seem impressed.

“I think you still need an appointment,” was all he said, then he cut the connection.

Tyr gave Beka a mildly annoyed glare. “Can we blow them up now?”

“We can,” Rev Bem answered slowly, “but I doubt very much that it would help us,”

“Why not?” the Emerald Than warrior shrugged. “It might frighten them into cooperation. I’m usually not in favour of Nietzschean methods, but intimidating the – how do humans say? – the hell out of people sometimes works.”

“Do you really suggest bombing the countryside, just to make an appointment with the High Council?” Beka asked. She waited for a moment but got no response and nodded to herself. “That's what I figured. We need another solution, folks. One that’s a little less bloody but a little more…effective.”

“Blowing them up _would_ be effective,” Tyr pointed out.

“Hey!” Harper popped up from behind a console where he’d been working on something only a Perseid would understand. “Maybe we're overreacting.” The others gave him identically exasperated looks, and he ducked. “C'mon! Okay, look. If I went missing with that fine looking piece of… machinery… I wouldn't want to be found.”

“Harper,” Beka said with forced patience, “just because you’ve created Rommie to be the incarnation of your wet dreams, it doesn’t mean…”

“Wait,” the holo-image of _Andromeda_ , standing on one of the consoles, interrupted. “I'm detecting infrared plumes near the equator.”

“Infrared plumes?” Harper repeated, panicking. “Like from a missile launch?”

The hologram gave him a pointed look. “Very much like that, yes”

In the next moment, the ship shook and sparks flew as missiles hit the outer hull. Beta swivelled in the command chair toward the helm and swore.

“Damn it! That’s why that guy was so smug! Evasive maneuvers! _Andromeda_ , activate the Point Defence Lasers. Starlight, get us out of here, _now_!”

“But… but what about Dylan?” the hologram asked, while the ship as a whole was carrying out her orders.

“We can't help him if we're dead,” Tyr growled, re-checking the fire controls; they seemed to work, but they couldn’t stay here any longer. “We must retreat and regroup. Work out a new plan.”

“Besides,” Harper added, too cheerfully to be honest, “Dylan is more than three hundred years old. He can take care of himself.”

“That,” Beka replied dourly, “is one of the famous last words. But Tyr is right. We need a new plan.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
About half an hour later, everyone was gathered on the command deck again. Including Trance, the two Perseids, the Than leader and Freya. Only Farrendahl remained in her newly assigned quarters, and the four Amber Than workers in the machine shops.

“I’m open to suggestions, people,” Beka said. “We can't just run and hide, and I’ll be damned if I left anyone behind, just because a bunch of xenophobes in ugly headdresses don’t want to talk to us.”

“Arazia seems to have upgraded its planetary defence systems considerably,” Tyr growled.

“That’s understandable,” the Diamond Than riposted, “considering the fact that your people have paid the planet a few visits since the Fall.” She spoke Common flawlessly, thank to the miniature vocoder in her throat, save from the small, cackling noises practically all Than gave, even if not speaking their own tongue.

“So have mine, unfortunately,” Rev Bem said. “But no defence system is without loopholes. We just need to find the right one.”

Tyr rolled his eyes. Rev Bem’s talent to state the painfully obvious was getting on his nerves, now that the novelty of having a peaceful and civilized Magog around him had worn off.

“Yes!” Trance pumped a purple fist in the air; unlike Tyr, she always seemed to find Rev’s comments the quintessence of ultimate wisdom. “Give me a shuttlecraft and send me down to that planet, and I will have Dylan and Rommie back here by breakfast.”

There was a collective snort, and Beka shook her head. “No way, Trance. You are good at finding people, but this is not the mission I’d sent you – or anyone else – alone. It’s just too risky.”

“Besides, if Dylan isn't in trouble, and remember, we don't know that he is, an outright attack could definitely put him in harm's way,” Harper added. “Not to mention that these guys would shoot you in the minute they spot you.”

“Well,” Trance seemed to think very hard, then her face lit up. “I'll go undercover, then. Hey, I'll be practically invisible. You know I can.”

“Because there are hordes of purple girls with tails on Arazia,” Tyr snorted, “so that nobody would notice you in that crowd.”

“It's too late for that anyway,” the computer image of _Andromeda_ said.

Harper glared up at the screen with a frown. “Why do you say that?”

“I just intercepted a classified transmission in the data stream,” the AI told him. “Two anti-government activists were shipped off-world at the same time we lost contact. Dylan and my humanoid body aren't on Arazia any more. They've been sent to a prison colony.”

There was a long silence after that, broken by Tyr’s cynical comment somewhat later. “So much about Arazia joining the shiny new Commonwealth. I told Dylan it was a bad idea…”

“…and he ignored your warning as always, bla-blah-blah, we all know your complaints by heart, big guy,” Harper replied angrily. “Don’t you have anything more constructive to say?”

“Well, if he _had_ listened to me, he wouldn’t be on his way to a prison colony right now,” Tyr pointed out. Which was absolutely true, of course, but didn’t make him more popular at the moment.

“If I may,” Höhne, the high-ranking representative of the Sinti Perseid colony, raised a hand. Beka nodded.

“By all means,” personally, she found Perseids annoying like hell, but at the moment she’d accept any help she could get.

“I believe we can still find Captain Hunt and that excellent android of Mr. Harper,” Höhne said. The two Perseids and the engineer had reached the grade of mutual admiration weeks ago. “Since Arazia doesn’t have a lot of interstellar traffic…”

“…despite their famous hospitality,” Tyr muttered dryly. Höhne didn’t let himself be distracted.

“…so it wouldn’t be very hard to track their navigational signals and extrapolate their destinations. Someone with the abilities of my young friend Harper here could do so easily.”

“Of course,” Harper agreed brightly. “The Harper is good.”

“Then why doesn’t The Harper start working on it at once?” Beka asked sharply. Harper ducked.

“Whoa, boss, don’t bite my head off, I’m at it already. Rekeeb,” he looked at Höhne’s assistant, “care to help me?”

“Why, certainly!” the younger Perseid exclaimed enthusiastically, and they started to search at once, with the remark that it might take some time.

“Doesn’t matter,” Beka replied tersely. “In the meantime, we can decide what to do, once we _found_ the right signal. Personally, I’m warming up to Tyr’s suggestion.”

“Blowing up the prison colony?” Rev Bem asked sceptically. Beka shook her head.

“More like taking out the defences and getting Dylan and Rommie out of there. The problem is, _Andromeda_ is too big of a target to miss, and the _Maru_ , tough as she might be, isn’t exactly a combat ship.”

“What about slipfighters, then?” Tyr asked. “We still have half a dozen of them on the hangar deck. The ones we took from those insane children at Guard Station 92196 are capable of entering a planetary atmosphere to attack surface targets.”

“Nice idea, but who’d fly them?” Beta asked. “We’re not exactly High Guard soldiers here, and _Andromeda_ might not be able to control them in the atmosphere. Especially since these aren’t her own fighters.”

Tyr shrugged. “ _I am_ a trained slipfighter pilot, even if it’s been quite a time since I sat in one of them. But I’m sure some of the green bugs could fly them, too,” he added, with a glance in the Diamond Than’s direction.

Born to Starfire nodded, taking no offence at the bug remark. “All three of our Emerald warriors are capable of flying a slipfighter, and so is Glittering Starlight.”

“That means we can go down with five combat ships, shoot their defences to pieces, and you can follow us in the _Maru_ and free our esteemed captain and the avatar,” Tyr said, addressing his words to Beka.

“We can do that,” Beka agreed. “But can you tell me why should I trust you in the cockpit of the slipfighter?”

“Because you need me?” Tyr offered with a wolfish grin. “Who else should coordinate the attack?”

“True enough,” Beka agreed with a sigh; neither of them trusted the Than enough to leave the action completely in their hands. “All right, gang, saddle up. We’re doing a jail-break.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr used the next hour, in which Harper and Rekeeb worked feverishly on the Arazian data, while Höhne and Rev Bem discussed the possible motivation behind the Arazians' hostility, for a quick check of the slipfighters – and their pilots. The three Emerald Than warriors turned out very capable at the controls, just like Glittering Starlight, so he started to look at the planned action with a certain confidence.

“Do you think the result will justify the risks you are taking?” Freya asked, after he’d returned to their quarters.

“The risks aren’t that great,” Tyr replied with a shrug. “This is not the first time I had to break someone out of prison. And the bugs are really good – I’m reasonably confident that we’ll succeed.”

“It’s not that I won’t trust your abilities…or theirs,” Freya said, choosing her words carefully. “What I’m asking, is: Do _you_ really need to do this? To free Captain Hunt?”

The question was double-edged, of course, but they were used to talk this way whenever aboard the _Andromeda_. Freya wasn’t really asking if _Tyr_ needed to take part in Dylan’s rescue. She was actually asking if Tyr wanted Dylan to be rescued _at all_. Which was, indeed, a question worth considering. Tyr had considered it himself, during the debate. Was it time to try taking over _Andromeda_ , or should he travel on Dylan’s trail a little longer?

To his regret, he found that the time for a takeover wasn’t ripe yet. He still needed to work out new alliances, to extend his net of useful contacts within Nietzschean society, to strengthen his influence. And _that_ could be done better while keeping a low profile. In fact, Dylan’s insane quest could be helpful for his own purposes. Besides, he didn’t have enough reliable allies aboard yet.

“Yes,” he answered slowly, “I believe I need to do this.”

Freya nodded in acceptance. “It’s your decision. Be careful, though.”

“Always,” Tyr laid a gentle hand on his wife’s belly. He didn’t say more; for the moment, they chose to keep Freya’s pregnancy secret. It was safer that way, especially with the Than aboard, who had good reasons to hate Nietzscheans in general and the Orca in particular.

“Tyr,” the small hologram of Rommie shimmered into existence on his desk, “you are needed on the command deck. Harper’s done.”

“On my way,” Tyr said, and the hologram blinked off.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
He found Harper, Beka and the Than standing in a half circle in front of the star map. The little human was gesticulating energetically. 

“We’ve tracked all navigational signals coming from Arazia, Rekeeb and me,” he announced. “Only three ships have gone off-world since we got here. We managed to extrapolate their decisions,” he looked around expectantly, but nobody seemed to want to compliment him…them. He made an insulted face. “Thank you. No need to overdo the praise, ladies and gentlemen… gentlebeings… whatever. We only did our jobs.”

“Harper,” Beka said impatiently, ”we don’t have time for this. Stop pouting and tell us where they’ve gone.”

Harper usually didn’t take Beka’s mood to the heart, but Tyr could see that this time, the engineer was really hurt. He and Rekeeb worked hard to find the track the others needed, yet nobody cared to appreciate it.

“Well, Number One went to a mining colony,” he replied sourly. “Number Two has already gone back to Arazia. So, the shell with a pea under it is right here.”

Beka nodded. “Nice work, Harper. Starlight, take the slipstream controls. We’re going in.”

The others fanned out to man their stations. But Harper remained in front of the star map, disappointment clearly written into his face. Tyr watched him for a moment, considering possibilities, but then he had to brace himself for the entering of slipstream. The ride was half so rough as usual, with the Ruby Than in the slipstream chair, but it never harmed to be careful. Glittering Starlight piloted the ship through slipstream with calm confidence – they barely felt the usual shaking – and brought it out smoothly again.

“Transit to normal space accomplished,” she said. Beka nodded.

“Good job, Starlight. Rev, pulls up our surroundings on the viewscreen. Let’s see what’s out there.”

The Magog pushed a few buttons. The viewscreen blinked on again, and showed – nothing but the blackness of space and a few blinking stars.

“There’s _nothing_.“ Rev Bem stated the obvious, as always. Tyr shot Harper an annoyed look.

“I thought you said the prison colony would be here, boy.”

“I did!” Harper said defensively. “The coordinates led right here!”

“I can usually spot a planet,” Tyr said with biting irony. “They're _large_. I have good eyes.”

Harper shrugged. “I dunno,” he replied dully. “The navigational data from the colony transport musta been a false signature. Probably part of the prison security system or whatnot.”

“Okay,” Beka drummed with her fingers on the armrest of the command chair. “ _Now_ I'm mad. _Andromeda_ , access the _Maru_ 's databanks. Display all the documentation we have on penal systems in this area. I need a list of mining camps, exile worlds, prison colonies – anything like that.”

“Processing,” the computer answered. “Data retrieved.” A long, long list of data started scrolling on the main screen. Beta sighed and gave Harper a pointed look.

“You gotta be kidding me!” The engineer protested. “There’s no way I could work through all that within the next century! Not even with Rekeeb’s help. In case you hadn’t notice, we’re not machines.”

“Neither am I,” another Than, with the brilliant blue carapace of the scientist clan stepped onto the command desk, “but I do have a computer chip in my skull to help me analyze scientific data. I think I can be of assistance.”

Harper shrugged. “Be my guest, Miss… uh, I don’t think we’ve been introduced?”

“My name is Radiance of Wisdom,” the Sapphire Than replied, and she began analyzing the tons of data immediately. Harper shook his head and joined her. These bugs… first they wouldn’t speak to anyone from the crew during the months they’d spent aboard already, and now they simply jump into the middle of a mission, without preamble. Oh, well, if more of them wanted to work for him, he could live with that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The work, even with Radiance of Wisdom and Rekeeb’s help, lasted all night. In the simulated morning, Harper staggered into the officer’s mess and ordered bacon and eggs for breakfast. To his dismay, the Auto-Chef produced a plate of indefinable substance – it looked like a help of small, milky pearls, rotten moss and burned bread.

“What the hell is _this_?” he asked, glaring at his plate in utter disgust.

“Draconian fish ova, algae salad and full grain rye bread,” Tyr, walking in with Freya, looking intolerably smug and satisfied, replied. “Did you expect something else?”

“I wanted bacon and eggs, dammit!” Harper exclaimed. “I don’t eat fish ova, _especially_ not for breakfast.”

“You should,” Tyr advised. “They work wonders on your potency. But I’ll take them if you don’t want them.”

“Tyr, I don’t think you really need any help with your potency,” Freya grinned. Harper rolled his reddened eyes.

“I’m so _not_ listening to this. Look, guys, I’ve stared at the frigging viewscreen all night. My eyes burn like fire, my head hurts, and I’m starving. All I wanted was a few scrambled eggs, but not even that can a tired engineer get when the captain isn’t aboard and the ship is mourning his absence, obviously.”

“I can make you some, the old-fashioned way,” Tyr offered, snatching the Draconian caviar and putting a frying pan on the oven at the same time. He liked cooking, and if he could win Harper’s trust through the little professor’s empty stomach, it was a really small price. He remembered the mushrooms Trance had put into the pantry earlier that day and decided to treat Harper with the best omelette of his short and miserable life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After breakfast – for which Harper had polished off six eggs with a pound of mushrooms, crispy bacon and half a loaf of toast, while Tyr and Freya shared the Draconian caviar – they returned to the command deck. Radiance of Wisdom had already created a graphic showing all of the possible prison planets, which she was now displaying on the main viewscreen.

Beka whistled. “That's a lot of jails – for a single sector.”

Tyr shrugged philosophically. “A lot of worlds, a lot of trash.”

“I never got the whole prison thing,” Harper said, shaking his head. “Assuming, you have the potential to be a nasty piece of work. So, why lock you up with a serious bunch of hardcases and get you _really_ good at it?”

“They're sociopaths,” Tyr explained haughtily. “It makes sense to remove them from the gene pool.”

Beka looked at him meaningfully. “Well, _you'd_ certainly know.”

“Not really,” Tyr said. “We usually kill such people. It saves us the sweat to ship them off-world, plus they can’t be freed afterwards. Much more efficient.”

Before anyone could make any ‘Über’ comments – which, judging by Harper’s face, were to come – Trance entered in her usual cheerful mood. “Hey, did you find them? Can we go get Dylan and Rommie?”

The people present collectively rolled their eyes – well, except for the Than, probably. It was hard to tell with those compound eyes, occupying two-third of their faces. It was Harper who tried to break the news to her as gently as possible.

“It's not that easy, Trance,” he explained patiently. “Three spiral galaxies, dozens of galactic clusters… there's gotta be hundreds of prison planets.”

“Three-hundred-and-forty-eight, to be exact,” Radiance of Wisdom offered helpfully. Trance didn’t seem taken aback, though.

“Really?” she asked, so excited as if they were playing some sort of game. “What about… that one?” With that, she pointed at a planet on the screen. Beka looked first at the screen, then at the purple girl, a little baffled.

“Why? Why that one?” She had to rely on Trance’s uncanny talent to find the right things – or the right people – often enough, but the girl usually gave her more to work with.

Trance shrugged. “Well, it's… pretty?”

“It's pretty,” Tyr felt the sudden urge to break things – or to kill something. Or someone. “Now there's a solid reason to risk our lives.” Suddenly, the idea to leave Dylan to his well-deserved fate and take over the _Andromeda_ seemed a lot more appealing. He didn't notice Trance giving one of her little self-satisfied looks behind the back of the others, or he wouldn’t have been so incredulous.

“You have a better idea?” Harper demanded. Tyr mentally counted to twelve in the same lesser Kalderan dialect he used for swearing.

“No.” Aside from recalling the whole mission, shooting half the crew and sabotaging _Andromeda_ ’s main AI to prepare the ship for the total takeover, that is.

The answer seemed to satisfy Harper. “Well, we have to start somewhere. And it's as good a planet as any.”

“If you say so,” Tyr replied sarcastically. “May I ask how do you intend to check whether our esteemed captain is on that ‘pretty’ planet at all?”

“By searching for the EM spectrum of Rommie's locator beacon,” Harper answered distractedly. “Could you possibly _not_ bother me while I’m doing my job? Thank you kindly.” He examined the onscreen-view of the planet Trance had selected. “What do you think, Rekeeb?”

The Perseid stared at the data in surprise. “I think she indeed picked the right one. This is most… impressive.”

“Does it mean that we've actually _found_ them?” Beka asked. She knew Trance was good, but she’d never expected her to be _this_ good.

Harper beamed. “Definitely. I got a signal. It's faint, but it's definitely in the right EM spectrum. I’m sure it’s from Rommie.”

“Can you intercept their radio traffic?” Beka asked. “Is Dylan down there with her?”

Harper shook his head regretfully. “I can't. There is a lot of interference in the atmosphere. We were lucky to locate the signal at all.”

“It's a prison,” Tyr pointed out with a snort. “They don't want to hear from the outside.”

“Well, they're gonna hear from us. Get us in closer.”

“That would be a mistake,” Tyr warned. “You want to trumpet your arrival to your enemies? What for? So they can aim their biggest guns at you?”

“Fine,” Beka replied impatiently. “We'll sneak in. You're a good tactician, Tyr, but one hell of a wet blanket.”

“No,” Tyr said calmly. “I’m just not one of those heroic idiots who risk their lives unnecessarily. I intend to free Dylan and the android _and_ to come back in one piece. For that, I think we need to board our combat ships now.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Ten minutes later Tyr, the four Than and Beka were on the hangar deck, preparing for launch, leaving Harper in command, which seriously frightened the engineer. But they didn’t have many other choices. Rev Bem would never open fire on his own, and they didn’t want to leave the Than in charge.

“Slipfighter One, ready for launch,” Tyr said calmly. They were connected with the command deck by the comm system.

“Slipfighter Two, ready,” Glittering Starlight, responsible for the Than attack wing, replied.

“Slipfighter Three, ready,” Celestial Fire, one of the Emerald Than warriors, reported.

“Slipfighter Four, ready,” Sword of Midnight, the second warrior added.

“Slipfighter Five, ready,” Soaring Winds, the third warrior, said.

“Launch free,” Harper replied, squirming uncomfortably in the command position. “Boss, are _you_ ready?”

“ _Eureka Maru_ , ready for launch,” Beka answered.

On the command deck, the ship’s main AI tried to contact the prisoners. “Dylan, if you can hear me, we have a fix on my humanoid body. Beka and Tyr are coming down, with some company. They should enter atmosphere in approximately fifteen minutes.”

There was some crackling and static noise, then they could hear Rommie’s voice, weak and distorted. “No. No. Abort mission. Abort mission. Weapons fire at low altitude. Do not approach! Do not approach!”

“Did you hear that, Tyr? Boss?” Harper asked.

“We heard it,” Tyr replied. “Don’t worry, boy. We can deal with it. Slipfighters, launch _now_. I want to get over with this.”

The Than pilots acknowledged, and the slipfighters launched, the four Than flying in tight formation as was their wont – the bugs were notoriously good at teamwork – and Tyr lurking a little behind. If the bugs intended to make a tempting target for the defence systems, it was fine with him. _He_ intended to survive.

So far, they hadn’t run into any resistance, so Harper felt safe enough to give the _Maru_ free for launch.

“Be careful, boss,” he warned. “Let the big guy flex his muscles first. These private companies don’t like their property being visited. They might have a few nasty surprises up their sleeves.”

Beka’s face grinned back at him from the viewscreen. “Don’t wet your shorts, Harper. We’re almost there, and so far, nothing happened.”

Her picture promptly began to shake, and the alarms went off on the _Maru_. Harper frowned.

“What was _that_?” he demanded.

“Could be debris,” Radiance of Wisdom answered, checking her sensor readings. “Or could be…”

“…somebody shooting at me,” Beka finished through gritted teeth, trying to keep the _Maru_ even, while it was rattled by more impacts.

“That's not debris, that's from weapons fire.” The vocoder that made Than capable of pronouncing Common correctly, also made it impossible to recognize their individual voices, but according to radio identification, it was Sword of Midnight from Slipfighter Four. “Turn around, Captain Valentine, and let us handle it.”

“I can’t turn around,” the frustration in Beka’s voice was obvious. “The bastards knocked the backward thrust engines offline. Dammit, where did that laser fire come from? Didn’t Rommie say the weapons would fire at low altitude?”

“The planetary defences might,” Tyr said, his voice tense, “but this is an orbital defence laser platform, twenty-two degrees from your starboard side. Slipfighters Four and Five, take care of it!”

“Done and done,” Sword of Midnight replied, stooping down on the dark metallic ball with laser turrets like a vulture. Soaring Wind in Slipfighter Five flew an elegant curve and zeroed on from the other side. They opened fire synchronously, and the platform exploded into a deadly bloom of fire.

“Target destroyed,” Sword of Midnight reported with a manic cackle that was the Than equivalent of a war cry. “Score one for the good old High Guard weaponry.”

At the same moment, her slipfighter got hit by a missile coming from the planet surface and went spinning off course. Tyr swore in his favourite Kalderan dialect – something he’d picked up due to his long acquaintance with Ferahr Kalinga.

“Beka, are your PDLs working?”

“At the moment? Yes.”

“Good. Take care of those missiles for us while she catches her fighter. We need to take out the other orbital platform on your backboard side,” Tyr ordered. “Slipfighters Two and Three, you with me!”

“Understood,” the Ruby Than from Slipfighter Two replied, and the three of them raced away to give the other orbital platform a fiery death, too.

Due to her vast experience with hostile encounters, Beka managed to destroy the missiles aimed at them and secured Slipfighter Four with the grabbler, pulling it into the _Maru_ ’s hangar.

“You all right, Midnight?” she asked.

“I hit my head,” the Emerald Than answered, “but I’ll live. Our skulls are hard.”

Which was true, both in the literal and in the figurative meaning of the word. Than weren’t just tough, they could be annoyingly stubborn, too.

“Good,” Beka said. “Come up to me, then. I might need you at the fire controls and besides, we should try to contact Dylan.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
In the meantime, the four remaining slipfighters were already entering the atmosphere, ready to take out the ground-to-air defence systems.

“We’ve confirmation about the coordinates from the _Andromeda_ ,” Glittering Starfire reported. “I’m transmitting them to you know. The firepower is considerable; Captain Valentine, I suggest you stay back a little, until we’re done here.”

“To late,” Beka replied grimly. “The _Maru_ ’s under increasingly heavy fire. I guess we’ll have to deal with it until you shoot those things to atoms. Midnight, are you ready?”

“Of course,” the vocoder voice of the Emerald Than sounded almost excited. “I’m good with PDS systems, Captain, no need to worry.”

“Alert,” the voice of the _Maru_ computer interrupted. “Incoming weapons fire.”

“I sure hope you are right, Midnight,” Beka murmured. “Here it comes.”

The Emerald Than seemed to have the time of her life while shooting down the incoming missiles. Beka was less than excited, being the one to keep the ship even, with no backward thrust engines to rely on. But after a few rough manoeuvres the _Maru_ finally evened out, at the same time as the defences stopped firing at it.

“It stopped,” Beka commented in awe. “Looks like someone shot the defence system to shards.”

“ _Eureka Maru_ ,” the voice of the Ruby Than said through the comm, “you are clear to land. We’ve established contact with Captain Hunt. You can take him and the avatar aboard any time you want.”

“Yes!” Beka grinned at her green companion triumphantly. “That’s what I like to hear. You guys are a tough and reliable bunch.”

Sword of Midnight waggled with her antennae – a gesture which served as the equivalent of a great many human expressions. This time, it was meant as a grin.

“Not bad for a few bugs, eh?” she asked.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
While the rest of the crew was celebrating their captain’s return, Tyr decided to use the time for doing his daily workout in Hydroponics, as Freya was taking a nap. Pregnancy made Nietzschean women sleepy, especially in the first phase; this wise arrangement of nature (well, actually advanced genetics) served to save their strength and to spare their offspring any unnecessary trauma.

 _It won’t take long until she starts showing_ , Tyr thought, but until then he didn’t have to spend every moment with her to ensure her protection. Right now, the others were understandably wary around her, and he liked it that way. Once they realized that Freya was with child, it would change things. The common knowledge would make her vulnerable and Tyr would have to guard her more closely.

He reached Hydroponics and found it empty, which pleased him. He preferred to do his workout undisturbed. He had a vide variety of workouts, mostly of Nietzschean design, combining the best elements of Than and human martial art forms and Vedran mediation techniques. The exercises were numerous and varied, each set accounted for a different environment. And while he could do them in a room of one square metre if necessary, it was a blessing to have _Andromeda_ ’s Hydroponics deck to his proposal. This was almost as good as working out in an open space. Almost. At least here he could use appropriate accoutrements, if he wanted – a staff, perhaps, or knives if he was in the right mood for them – without people freaking out from the sight.

He hoped that - after the birth of their child - he'd be able to spar with Freya occasionally. He truly missed the two-person form of workout, last performed as a youngster – with his father, who’d taught him in the first time. One day, he’d teach his own child how to do it.

“Strrrrange,” a throaty voice purred, and whirling around, he saw the sleek, back form of the Makra approaching from between the fruit trees. “Strrrrrange that a Nietzschean, who’s supposed to be perfect by design, would worrrrrrk so long and hard to improve himself. What’s the purpose?”

“There’s always way for improvement,” Tyr replied. “Genetic engineering is the beginning of the process, not the end of it.”

“Is it?” the Makra’s ear twitched; a sign of amusement by her people. “Most Nietzscheans I encountered believed themselves to be the best possible specimen upon birth already; they saw no reason to go any further.”

“Which is a sad sign of their inferiority,” Tyr said. “The human philosopher Plato had once spoken of the ideal form, with the reality being but shadows, made by firelight on a cave wall…”

“…and Nietzscheans are that ideal form, while all other species mere shadows?” Farrendahl asked, amused. Tyr shook his head.

“Nietzscheans might be closer to that Platonic ideal than most,” he said, certain in his heart that they, in fact, were. “But it would be the height of stupidity to assume that we have achieved perfection already.”

“And so you are working on reaching that perfection, aren’t you?” the Makra asked.

“In every minute of my life,” Tyr said. “I owe it my parents, who made great efforts to secure the best genes for me.”

“And to your children,” Farrendahl added.

“I don’t have children,” Tyr said with a shrug. “But yes, should I ever have any, it’d be my duty to give them the best chances to survive. Be it my genes, be it my experiences, be it a firm hand to lead them.”

“Interesting,” Farrendahl’s voice lowered to a purr again. “What _are_ you really, Tyr Anasazi? A scholar? A philosopher? Or a professional killer?”

“I’m all that, and a lot more,” Tyr replied. “I’m everything I have to be to help the Nietzscheans become what they were meant to be. What Paul Museveni had dreamed of while working on Ayn Rand Station on the perfection of a race that only existed in his dreams.”

“And what, exactly, would that be?” the Makra asked.

“Something better than we have actually become,” Tyr answered simply. “The incarnation of the best gifts and abilities of the mother race whose offspring we are – not the quintessence of their worse failures that we sometimes seem to be.”

“That’s a difficult calling indeed,” Farrendahl said thoughtfully. “Are you certain that you’re up to the challenge?”

“Yes,” Tyr replied without hesitation..

“You are a dangerous man,” Farrendahl inclined her sleek head. “Men on so-called holy missions always are. I shall keep myself out of your way, then – for my own safety.”

With that, the Makra made an elegant bow and left Tyr alone to ponder if he had unintentionally revealed too much.


	5. A Startling Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr presents evidence about the fate of Völsung Pride, while the Castalians are about to join the new Commonwealth. Understandably, things go downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter is based on the events of the episode _All Great Neptune’s Oceans_ , and tells them from Tyr’s POV – with a considerable twist at the end. Some of the dialogue, as before, is directly quoted from the episode, for the same reasons as before. I’m sure you’ll recognize the lines.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 4 - A Startling Discovery**

Several weeks after having broken out Dylan and Rommie from prison, Tyr was returning from another supply run with the _Maru_ – another one to which he, again, had taken Freya as the co-pilot – and stumbled straight into eager preparations on the Observations deck. Rommie, once again her old, efficient self, was setting a very elegant dinner table, with the questionable help of Beka and Harper. Quite frankly, the so-called help of those two limited itself to making snarky remarks.

“I'll say this for the old Commonwealth,” Harper said, examining the fancy dinner sets. “When it comes to formal dinnerware, you guys rule.”

“I do what I can,” Rommie replied. Beka, however, shook her head in mild exasperation.

“It's all a little bit much to me. I mean, bringing forth the good china is nice, but _place cards_? Come on…”

Rommie shrugged. “Protocol is vital to the Castalians. President Lee and his people forged a republic from a dozen habitats and cultures: water-breathers, air-breathers, beings that have lived their entire lives in space, and so on. The least we can do is to give him a proper welcome.”

“Which explains why the fish-necks get to hang out with the hot chick with the lungs,” Harper commented, laughing; then he noticed the returning Nietzscheans and grinned at them. “Hey, Tyr, Freya! You’ve just arrived on time for the big banquet.”

“What’s the occasion?” Tyr asked flatly. Freya shot him a slightly alarmed look. After a trip on the _Maru_ , with all that had occurred between the two of them – which both had enjoyed enormously – she didn’t expect him to get into such a bad mood, so soon.

“Why, Castalia’s signing the Commonwealth Charter, of course,” Harper answered cheerfully. “After the disaster on Arazia, Dylan was most eager to get another applicant, and it only took him a week to persuade the fish-necks to join up. In fact, President Lee was positively enthusiastic.”

“Was he?” Tyr said, with the same blank face. Rommie glared.

“What’s your problem, Tyr? The Castalian Republic is progressive, peaceful and stable. If they sign the Commonwealth Charter, they provide us with instant credibility.”

“Are you sure about that?” Tyr asked and, without waiting for an answer, he turned around and stormed off.

Beka looked after him in stunned disbelief. “What was _that_? Freya, do you have any idea what his problem is?”

“Not the slightest,” Freya shrugged. “He never speaks to me about the Castalians. But then again, I never indulged myself in the illusion that he’d tell me everything.”

“What?” Beka asked, incredulously. “You are his _wife_ , aren’t you? His _only_ wife, as far as we know. Whom would he trust if not you?”

“Himself,” Freya replied simply. “He never knew any other way. Besides, not knowing all his secrets is better for my safety.” She nodded to Harper. “We got the spare parts you’ve requested. Your bugs can take them from the _Maru_ ’s cargo bay. I have to look after my husband.”

“Charming woman,” Beka commented, glaring at the door that had closed behind Freya. “Do you think she was telling the truth about not knowing all of Tyr’s secrets?”

“Most certainly,” Rommie answered. “It is common Nietzschean strategy – well, at least it _used_ to be – not to share any personal plots with one’s spouse. For their safety, as Freya said. There’s no use to kidnap someone and torture them for the secrets they do _not_ know.”

“Nice,” Harper commented dryly. “Not that I’d have anything against paranoia – it can be very healthy, you know – but this…eeew!”

“It works for Nietzscheans,” Rommie replied with a shrug. “Now, let’s hear the ceremonial music.”

She switched on the music, which sounded, well…interesting, causing Harper to cringle immediately.

“ _That_ 's their ‘Hail to the Chief’?” the engineer asked incredulously. “It sounds more like a tuna with a toothache! And I thought Tyr playing Wagner in the Officers’ Mess was bad… I’ll have to apologize to him.”

Rommie shrugged again. “It works better underwater,” she said vaguely; in fact, she looked a little unsure about it. “Besides, it’s part of the protocol. Remember, the Castalian dignitaries have musical cues for everything. Music for entering a room, for leaving a room, for proposing a toast…”

“… for swimming around naked, for the mating dance among the seaweed,” Harper added _sotto_ voce and with a devious expression. Beka almost fell over from laughing too hard. Rommie, however, was _not_ amused.

“And while they're on this ship, we have to respect their traditions,” she said with a threatening glare. “You will _not_ create a major diplomatic incident by insulting their taste in music, Harper. Have I made myself clear?”

“All right, Rom-doll, no need to kick off,” Harper raised his hands defensively; it was never a good idea to piss off a warship. “But I must say, I begin to understand why Tyr hates these guys so much.”

“Whatever the reason is, I’m sure it’s _not_ their music,” Rommie said dryly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Freya found her husband sitting in their living area, glaring into empty air with a dark expression on his face. She sat down on the sofa next to him and waited patiently. She knew him well enough already to allow him enough time to cool down.

“Talk to me,” she finally said. “What’s wrong? It’s the Castalians, isn’t it?”

Tyr nodded glumly but offered no more information. Freya sighed. She loved him, but living with his mood swings wasn’t always easy.

“What about them?” she nudged him a little.

“They are mass murderers,” Tyr replied grimly. “And Dylan intends to include them in his shiny new alliance. As major players.”

“And what if he does?” Freya shrugged. “How is it your concern?”

Tyr glared at her darkly. “Ever heard of Völsung Pride?”

“Not really,” Freya admitted. Tyr handed her a flexi. She read through it quickly; then she paled. “Oh no…”

“Oh, yes,” Tyr said. “Can you see now what my ‘problem’ is?”

“Of course,” Freya paused. “So; are you doing something about it?”

“I certainly am,” Tyr replied. “I want you to go to the dinner. To be my witness when I reveal their crime.”

Freya sighed and shook her head. She seemed to be doing that a lot since she’d lived with Tyr. “I will be there. I only hope you know what you are doing.”

“I’ll do what I have to do,” Tyr said.

“Sure you will,” Freya answered. “I just wonder what the price will be.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
At the appointed dinner time, Freya indeed made an appearance on the Observations deck, looking absolutely stunning in her black leather costume, shiny boots and silver bracers that hid her forearm spikes – until they were needed, of course. She had put her golden hair up in the same fashion Rommie was wearing and enjoyed both the admiring looks of the human males – including Captain Hunt who forgot to close his mouth upon her sight – and the hateful glares of the Castalians, especially of that horse-faced female who had been introduced as Colonel Yau. Female warriors were not an unknown factor among Nietzscheans, but Freya didn’t see the reason why a female in the military service would want to look like some genderless creature. Female charms could be a deadly weapon. Why should one leave one’s opportunities unused?

She got a seat next to Beka, which was just fine with her. Firstly because she knew that Tyr considered the tough human woman a potential ally, and secondly because without Beka and Harper’s snarky remarks she might have killed someone before the round of toasts was completed. At least the two _kludges_ were just as bored as she was – _and_ their comments were fairly amusing. She could see that these two had a long and working alliance. Tyr would either be able to win both of them to his side, or neither. They wouldn’t turn against each other.

Not having anything else to do but to stand whenever a new toast was announced and sit down again when it was finished, she got ample time to watch Sebastian Lee. The fish-neck, as Harper called him, didn’t look like a mass murderer, but Freya knew how deceiving appearances could be. She’d seen the flexi on which the fate of Völsung Pride was recorded.

“Isn’t Tyr coming?” Beka asked. She looked very attractive in her black dress…with the very practical boots she still wore. Too bad she was a _kludge_ , with her DNA damaged by the less than perfect shielding of the _Maru_. She would make a good consort for an Alpha otherwise. She was courageous, fierce, intelligent, and cynical – everything a Nietzschean woman could wish for herself. Such a waste…

“He intends to,” Freya answered the question distractedly. She was not looking forward to Tyr’s grand entree. They didn’t have enough allies onboard to create, as Rommie would put it, a ‘major diplomatic incident’.

Beka gave her a curious look, clearly feeling that there was more behind Tyr’s absence than mere tardiness. But she couldn’t ask the question that seemed to be burning on her tongue, because they had to stand up again. This time to honour Rev Bem’s toast. Freya began to think that Castalians deserved to be killed just for their inane obsession with protocol.

The Magog, however, seemed to enjoy his own performance enormously. Freya suspected that he practically _lived_ for such occasions. Pompous was something he did very well.

“I offer a toast to President Lee, who united his people by appealing to their highest ideals,” Rev said in his scratchy voice. “May he inspire a host of imitators.”

“I hope by the Progenitor that he won’t,” Freya commented softly, not even touching her glass, while everyone drank out and sat down. Harper shot her a curious look, his quick mind working almost visibly.

“You’re not a fan of President Fish-neck, are you?”

“No Nietzschean would ever be,” Freya replied coldly. Then they had to stand up again, for Sebastian Lee’s toast.

“Thank you, Reverend Behemial,” the Castalian said with a grin. “I salute you for your wisdom, your wit, and your excellent judge of character.”

There were polite laughs all around the table, while everyone drank and sat down again. Beka rolled her eyes.

“Oh, somebody shoot me,” she said to Harper. Freya raised an eyebrow.

“If that is your wish…although Rommie probably wouldn’t appreciate bloodshed at the dinner table.”

“You think _you've got_ problems,” Harper said, looking sadly at Dylan, who was chatting quietly with Colonel Yau. "I'm never gonna score with Captain Terrific moving in on my turf.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Freya asked in surprise. “I know humans usually have lower standards than Nietzscheans do, but surely there is nothing wrong with your eyes? Or are you suffering from a serious case of sexual frustration?”

“Harper is _always_ suffering from sexual frustration,” Beka grinned; then she nudged Freya. “Hey, it seems your husband finally decided to grace our unworthy company with an appearance.”

Fear and excitement battled in Freya’s heart as she saw Tyr stride in like his mythical namesake and grab a champagne flute from a tray.

“I should also like to salute President Lee,” the Kodiak announced loudly, and everyone stood automatically, albeit more than a little surprised. Tyr gave them a grim look and continued. “A man possessed of determination and vision,” he paused again, eyeing the Castalians like a predator its prey. “A vision to see that Völsung Pride could never be a part of his republic. And the determination to see every Nietzschean on Castalia slaughtered: man, woman, and child.”

There was dead silence on the Observations deck, while Tyr and Freya emptied their glasses. Then Tyr crushed the glass in his fist, and let the shards fall onto the floor.

“Freya,” he said, “we are leaving.”

Freya let her empty champagne flute fall deliberately, gave the gathering a nod and a cold smile, and followed her husband out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“That was…spectacular,” she said, when they were out of human earshot. “But was it also wise? Do you think that Captain Hunt would side with you, against the Castalians’ potential membership in his precious new Commonwealth?”

“Of course not,” Tyr replied with a derisive snort. “He’d sell his mother, assuming he still _had_ one, for the chance to gain some backwater planet for his club.”

“Then what was the whole thing for?” Freya asked.

“To make him realize that he isn’t any better than we are,” Tyr said. “And to make the true fate of Völsung Pride known to other races.”

“Are you certain that your source is reliable?” Freya asked.

“As sure as anyone ever could be,” Tyr said. “Ferahr has worked long and hard to find out what happened to Völsung Pride… what _really_ happened, contrary to Castalian propaganda. I have checked the evidence. Yes, I’m quite certain that it’s genuine.”

Freya nodded. “Very well. But you do realize that Dylan would be furious, don’t you?”

“I can live with that,” Tyr replied with a shrug. “It’s time that he stopped lying to himself and admitted what he’d be willing to ignore, just to get his dream become true.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Freya’s estimation that Dylan would be furious proved to be an understatement. The captain was positively fuming as he stormed into the Nietzscheans’ quarters – without waiting for an invitation.

“Tyr! What the hell was _that_ supposed to be?” he demanded.

Tyr, sitting on the sofa, with Freya in his arms, gave him an amused look. “I was complimenting our guest.”

At that, Hunt positively exploded. “Don't insult my intelligence!”

Tyr denied himself the remark of how hard _that_ would have been.

“I'm not the one playing you for a fool,” he replied calmly, handing the human the flexi with the evidence…well, a copy of it anyway. “Sebastian Lee built his republic on the bones of my people. The Völsung were a direct offshoot of Kodiak Pride. Their orbital habitat was blown to pieces during Lee's War of Unification. Seventy-five _thousand_ Nietzscheans! _My_ blood!”

He was carefully keeping the rage out of his voice. This was more important than his personal feelings. He needed to remain in control of both his own anger and the situation.

Dylan studied the flexi with a frown. “Like you said, it was a war.”

“A war the Völsung had already lost,” Tyr replied evenly. “They were attempting to surrender! “

“ _Surrender_?” Dylan repeated doubtfully. “Nietzscheans?”

“We like to win,” Tyr said, “but survival is more important. Survival is _everything_ – the ultimate imperative. They _would_ have given up to save the Pride. But Lee decided to solve his Nietzschean problem once and for all. So, be just a bit more careful who you're shaking hands with, _Captain_ Hunt. Your fingers might come away bloody.”

“What do you want from me, Tyr?” Dylan asked in exasperation. “To give up on Castalia, based on your accusations?”

“Of course not,” Tyr said. “I realize that while your Commonwealth is of little interest for _me_ , it’s all-important for you. I just wanted to help you to get to know your bedfellows before you fall in love.”

Dylan shook his head, still uncertain. “I’ll have to discuss this with the Castalian delegation. And to review their records from that time.”

“Now, _that_ will be certainly free of any prejudices,” Tyr said sarcastically.

“Just like your evidence,” Dylan replied and left.

Freya looked up into Tyr’s expressionless face.

“You do realize, of course, that they’d have very good arguments,” she warned him. “This has been their home for centuries; the Völsung were the invading force. They were little better than the Drago-Kazov, whom you keep in such dismay. They terrorized the air-breathers, captured slaves…”

“That still doesn’t justify genocide,” Tyr countered. Freya nodded.

“No, it does not. That’s not the point.”

“What is it, then? Do you want me to forget slaughtering of my own blood?”

“No. I know you cannot do that, especially after the extinction of your Pride. The point is, however, that even if the truth comes out, most Castalians probably wouldn’t care. They most likely think that the only good Nietzschean is a dead Nietzschean. And for _them_ , it might even be true.”

“So, what do you want me to do?” Tyr asked tiredly. Freya shrugged.

“It depends on the Castalians’ next move… and on Captain Hunt’s. But basically, you _have_ achieved what you wanted. You _have_ revealed the truth. You can afford to give in…just a little.”

“Is that what you are suggesting?” Tyr asked. Freya shook her head.

“I'm not suggesting anything. This is your game, and I’ll support you however you decide. But if you want us to remain on this ship, you don’t have too many options.”

Tyr started to answer, but at the same moment the door buzzer sounded. Freya waited for him to answer it, but then, seeing that Tyr was not willing to move, she stood up and went to open the door. To her surprise, Harper stood in the entrance.

“Hi, Freya.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Can I, uh, talk to Tyr for a moment? It won’t take long.”

Freya glanced back over her shoulder. “Tyr?”

“Let him in.” Tyr rose reluctantly and stalked to the door, bad mood coming off him in waves. “What do you want, boy?”

“I, uh, want to ask you a question,” Harper said. “Just a single one, I swear.”

“Ask. But make it short.”

“Well… right, short. I can do short. You have a problem with President Fish-neck over there, because he supposedly blew up seventy-five thousand of your people, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, then I don’t understand why you, uh, don’t seem to have any problems with _me_ ,” Harper said. “I blew up a hundred thousand of you Niets, well, technically it was Dylan, of course, but he could never have done it without _my_ fusion catalyst device, which, by the way, was the stroke of a genius, if I may say so myself. _And_ I never made a big secret out of the fact that I don’t regret it.”

“No, you haven’t,” Tyr agreed.

“Right. So, how come that you aren’t stalking me with your biggest knife, or threatening me, or anything?” Harper asked. “Not that I’d want you to do those things, you understand, I’m just wondering.”

Tyr shrugged. “You never lied about it.”

“That’s all?” Harper stared at him, unbelievingly. Tyr shrugged again.

“Besides, you had every reason to hate Nietzscheans.”

“So have the Castalians,” Harper pointed out mercilessly. “Do you have any idea what it means being a slave?”

“I used to be one,” Tyr said dryly, “after the Drago-Kazov massacred my Pride. So, yes, I know very well what it means.”

“And you’re still taking sides with the slavers, just because they were your people?” Harper asked.

“The Nietzscheans _you_ blew up were warriors, going to war,” Tyr elaborated. “The Völsung who were massacred on their orbital habitat were to seventy per cent women and children, since the majority of the men had already been killed. Does this answer your question?”

“Yeah,” Harper nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, it does. I… uh, I’ll go then. Bye.”

“An interesting little man,” Freya commented, looking after him. “I begin to understand why you consider him a potential ally. He has more strength than one would think.”

“He’s annoying,” Tyr said, “but very effective in whatever he does. And he survived twenty years on Earth, between Drago-Kazov slaver sweeps and Magog raids. He won’t let morale get into his way to do the right thing. I respect that in a mere human.”

“And what is the right thing _you_ are going to do now?” Freya asked with a small, ironic smile.

“Waiting for Dylan’s next move,” Tyr replied calmly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
He didn’t have to wait more than an hour until Dylan returned. The human walked in with that superior expression he always had on his face whenever he tried to make someone do things his way.

“I want you to apologize to President Lee,” he said without preamble.

Tyr arched an eyebrow. “You do?” The human was really amusing when he tried to play the authority card.

“Not only an apology, but a formal one, as Castalian protocol demands,” Dylan continued in the same authoritive tone. “You’ve insulted their head of state.”

“I haven’t done any such thing,” Tyr replied. “I simply told the truth. The man committed genocide.”

“Not according to Castalian public records, or the official investigation into the explosion, which blew up the entire habitat, killing everyone aboard… _including_ ten thousand Castalian slaves. Both sources say the Völsung habitat was taken out by friendly fire.”

“And you believe that, of course,” Freya commented with a cold smile. “Because it’s so hard to manipulate records. No one would even _think_ of doing that.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe or not,” Dylan said. “Right now, Tyr has one story, the Castalians have another. One that is perfectly plausible.”

“Plausible!” Tyr snorted. “I thought you knew us better than that. Nietzscheans don't commit suicide.”

“Colonel Yau says their munitions may have detonated accidentally,” Dylan said.

“If they had been idiots, yes,” Tyr growled. “Only they were not. They’d never store explosives in close proximity to their families and children. _Never_.”

Dylan shrugged. “Theories.”

“Facts,” Tyr corrected.

“Whatever,” Dylan said. “Think more than a few moves ahead, Tyr, and remember the long game. Re-establish the Commonwealth, and we re-establish open inquiry, accountability, and justice.”

“Justice?” Tyr repeated with bitter irony. “For Nietzscheans?”

“For everyone,” Dylan said. “Or there's no point.”

“Assuming there was one to begin with,” Freya said. “This ‘long game’ you are speaking of, is _your_ game, Captain Hunt, not ours.”

“What are you still doing on my ship, then?” Dylan asked.

“It serves our purposes better than any alternative,” she answered bluntly. “For the time being, anyway.”

“Then you should not interfere with _my_ purposes, at the very least,” Dylan said. “ _If_ you want to remain on the _Andromeda_ , that is.”

“Is that an ultimatum, Captain?” Tyr asked sarcastically. “You can’t afford to throw me out, and you know that.”

“Try me.” Dylan’s pale eyes were cold like ice.

“It’s a tempting offer,” Tyr replied with a smirk.

“Is it?” Dylan asked. “Well, it’s your choice. You have exactly twenty minutes to decide. Before President Lee appears to sign the Charter… live, on camera in front of my people, just as we planned.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The twenty minutes were nearly over, and people on the Observations deck had become a little impatient. Harper was clowning around with the annoyingly self-important Castalian cameraman, having great fun practically ruining the man’s “most important reportage of the decade”. Beka was teasing him about it, and they were taking bets whether or not Dylan had been able to _persuade_ Tyr about the necessity of publicly apologizing to President Lee. 

Harper had his doubts, but Beka reminded him of Dylan’s ability to blackmail people into doing what he wanted them to do. She still had vivid memories about hiding in the corona of a sun and Dylan threatening her to sacrifice the _Maru_ to save his own ship. Despite superficial impressions, Beka was _not_ the type to easily forgive any threats against her ship or her crew. She also hadn’t forgotten that Harper had very nearly died back then, just because Captain Perfect forgot to take the young man’s weak immune system into consideration.

Their friendly banter was interrupted by the arrival of the Castalian delegation, accompanied by that noise that Harper had nicknamed “their stupid fish music”. Dylan flanked President Lee on the one side, Chancellor Chandos, who had turned out as a less than pleasant negotiating partner, on the other side, talking into his comm.

“Very well, that's a little more convincing,” he was saying to someone while his pale, truly fish-like eyes were watching his surroundings in mistrust. “Tell him… tell him maybe.” Then he turned to Dylan in the same impatient manner. “Captain, the President's address is in ten minutes. Are you sure your superman is going to show up?”

“I’m never sure about anything where Tyr’s considered,” Dylan replied with forced humour. “But again, he _does_ occasionally surprise me,” he added, seeing Tyr walk in, with Freya at his side.

Beka grinned, as much at Dylan’s surprise as at the Castalians’. Not to mention that she’d just won the bet against Harper.

“Pay up,” she whispered, and the disappointed engineer pulled some money out of his sock and gave it to her. She grinned at the Nietzscheans. “Thanks, Tyr.”

Tyr didn’t pay her any attention. He strode directly to President Lee, deliberately violating the Castalian’s personal space and said flatly, with a blank face. “I'm told I owe you an apology.”

Lee nodded. He was a man with good humour and a deceiving friendliness, Freya found. He displayed a much higher intelligence than his co-workers. Under different circumstances, it might have been interesting to make his acquaintance. If he hadn’t murdered a whole Pride. Tyr’s kinsmen.

“Captain, could we have a moment alone, please?” Lee asked.

“Mr. President, no!” Colonel Yau protested. “That would be too risky!”

“I must agree with the colonel, Mr. President,” Chandos said with a strong emphasis. “Besides, the parliament is convened, and your speech begins in eight minutes and thirty-two seconds.”

“Thank you,” Lee replied. Their eyes met, and it seemed that there was some unspoken communication between the two of them… a warning, perhaps, but definitely no agreement. “This won't take long,” Lee added, “but it’s something I have to do.”

Chandos frowned, and so did Tyr, actually. He had challenged the Castalian publicly, and Dylan had mentioned a public apology. Why would Lee want a private meeting first?

“I have brought a witness,” the Nietzschean said, indicating his wife. But Lee shook his head carefully, as if not to dislocate his breathing apparatus.

“No. This is between the two of us. No witnesses. Captain, if you would…”

“Of course, Mr. President. _Andromeda_ , engage privacy mode.”

“Yes, sir,” came the crisp reply from the computer. “Ladies and gentlemen, please vacate the Observations deck.”

Reluctantly, everyone left for the corridor. Most reluctant of all was Freya, of course, suspecting a trap behind the Castalian’s request. Aside from her personal feelings for Tyr, his death would have meant for her the loss of her status as the First Wife of a Pride Alpha (even if the Pride in question currently only contained the two of them), and for their unborn child to grow up fatherless and prideless – the worst possible fate for a Nietzschean ever. Of course, Tyr could take care of himself, but underestimating an adversary would have been fatal.

As they were left alone, Sebastian Lee turned to the Nietzschean with a sigh. “You couldn’t wait for a few more days with your dramatic performance, could you?”

Tyr glared at him in understandable bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“That you should consider the possible consequences before you act, and weigh the ways of action against each other,” the Castalian said. “With that little display of self-righteous anger, you might have ruined what I’ve worked for so long…and your own chances to find what you thought lost. You do understand, of course, that after what today happened, I won’t be able to cooperate with you in any way? We can call ourselves lucky when we get the Commonwealth Charter signed at all. Our people don’t take kindly being called murderers. Especially not by people who’ve done much worse to us than we could ever do to them.”

“You killed seventy-five thousand Nietzscheans,” Tyr replied. “That’s hard to top, even by my own kind.”

“Is it?” Lee asked grimly. “Well, let me tell you about your kinsmen, Tyr Anasazi. They invaded our home system. They looted. They captured slaves. They owned the sky. We were helpless against them. Still, my people, the water-breathers, went relatively unscathed. We had nothing they really wanted. We built our strength, waiting. Eventually they grew complacent. We managed to destroy their fleet…”

“And you blew up their habitat, with mostly women and children on it,” Tyr interrupted. “ _And_ ten thousand of your own people. You still want me to believe that _my_ kinsmen were the murderers?”

Lee sighed. “Those deaths were a tragedy, I won’t deny that. Exactly the kind of loss Captain Hunt’s Commonwealth hopes to prevent. That’s why I’m so inclined to sign the charter. Let me tell you something…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Outside the Observations deck, everyone was standing around the corridor, waiting nervously. Chandos and Yau were looking at their chronos repeatedly, and almost jumped when Rev Bem appeared near them like a nightmare incarnate.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” the Magog said. “I hope I'm not too late.”

“You missed Tyr's act of contrition,” Beka grinned at him broadly. Harper made a sour face.

“Did I?” Rev asked, apparently pleased, although only those who knew him well could tell. Magog facial expressions were somewhat…one-dimensional. All that fur made them hard to read.

Harper made a sour face and pulled some more money out of his socks, handing it to the Magog. “I know, I know. Pay up.”

Rev Bem accepted the money with a reverent nod. “Strictly for charity, of course.”

Harper rolled his eyes. “Of course… Tell me, Rev, does it count as charitable to take a poor engineer's last thrones, saved for some beer and caffeine?”

“If you are afraid of losing, you shouldn’t take bets,” the Magog replied smugly. “Besides, you could have won. Wasn’t that which motivated you to betting in the first place?”

“You’d think I’ve learned enough never to bet against you,” Harper said, annoyed, “but nooo, I had to do it again. Tell me, Rev, why were you so sure that Tyr would appear? I mean, the guy is unpredictable to the extreme.”

The Magog gave Freya a fleeting glance that made her extremely uncomfortable. It was as if Rev Bem had been eyeing the dinner menu. Or did he know something he wasn’t meant to know? His sense of smell was almost as acute as that of a Nietzschean, and changing pheromone levels could reveal a lot to those who knew how to interpret them.

“I do believe that Tyr would see as more advantageous for himself – and his family – to remain aboard the _Andromeda_ right now,” the Magog said to Harper. “And I have absolutely no doubt that our esteemed Captain isn’t above to use some blackmailing, if it serves his purposes. Remember our visit in the sun’s corona, not so long ago?”

Harper grimaced, as if in remembered pain. “How could I ever forget _that_ lovely little trip? I’m still surprised that I didn’t die that day… What the hell is that again?” he exclaimed angrily, as the Castalian ‘fish music’ began to play on the Observations deck.

Colonel Yau shrugged, although her carefully neutral expression indicated that – no matter how loyal she was to the President – the underwater music wasn’t her personal choice of artistic enjoyment, either.

“The Presidential March. What else?”

Chancellor Chandos shook his head. “That can't be right. Why should it be played right now? It’s not the time for that yet!”

Harper gave him an exasperated look. “You are asking _me_? I’m not the one who can’t even go to the washroom without some strange noise accompanying me.”

“Nobody was asking _you_ ,” riposted Chandos rudely. “I was just wondering…”

He was interrupted by the sounds of a force lance firing coming from behind the Observations deck’s closed doors. They could hear Sebastian Lee shouting from inside.

“What are you doing?”

Everybody ran back to the door. They found both Tyr and Lee are lying on the ground. Freya shoved the people out of her way and fell to her knees on her husband’s side. Chandos hurried to the President to check on his life signs.

“He's been shot,” he said, obviously shocked. “The Nietzschean has shot President Lee.”

The cameraman who was present for the President's speech came closer to document everything that was happening. As tragic as the events turned out this was _the_ report of the decade, and it would make him famous.

“He's dead,” Dylan said, staring at Lee’s body in stunned surprise.

Colonel Yau aimed a gun at Tyr, her eyes glittering with cold hatred. “I've got him. I've got the killer.”

Freya shot up from her kneeling position like a striking cobra, her bone blades, ivory white and sharp like a shark’s teeth, snapping free. Ignoring the gun, she planted herself before the colonel and pressed the blades against her throat. “You as much as look the wrong way at my husband, and I’ll kill you on the spot.”

“Shove it – both of you,” Beka ordered, kneeling down and checking on Tyr, who seemed to be unconscious. “Damn it, he's having convulsions. We've gotta get Tyr to medical or we might lose him, too.”

“No!” Freya hurled Colonel Yau against the bulkhead with a force that nearly rendered the Castalian woman unconscious. “He cannot die!”

“He won’t, if I have anything to say about it,” Dylan said. “Rommie! Get security in here, now. Have Tyr taken to medical and place two of the Than warriors to guard him.” He only then noticed the cameraman. “Would you close that stupid camera!”

He tore the camera from the hands of the man and threw on the floor, kicking it out of reach viciously. Only seconds later, the Marias, as the medical droids were commonly called, came for Tyr and left with him, followed by Freya. Chandos tried to intervene, but the flexing of Freya’s bone blades made him reconsider.

“A wise decision,” Rev Bem commented. “Only terminally suicidal people would get in the way of a Nietzschean woman who is protecting her family.”

“Well, she won’t be able to protect him against proper justice,” Chandos replied grimly. Then he looked at Dylan in open accusation. “Or would she?”

“Not at all,” Dylan said calmly. “ _Proper_ justice being the key word here, Chancellor.”


	6. Investigations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The _Andromeda_ crew tries to clean Tyr from the accusation of having murdered Castalian President Lee. Follows more or less the canon events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Questmaker from this chapter on, many thanks both to her and to my former beta, Erinnyes!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 5 - Investigations**

The Marias carried the unconscious Tyr to the medical deck, followed by a very upset Freya, who made the best impression of a vengeful valkyrie one could imagine. Her hair had come loose during the short but heated encounter with Colonel Yau, her eyes were burning, her bone blades fully erect. She planted herself at the foot end of Tyr’s bed while Trance worked, obviously ready to kill anyone who dared to come too close.

That meant a pretty shaken Colonel Yau, mostly, whom Dylan had escorted to the med deck as well, so that Rommie could check her for injuries. She might have been the chief of security of the late President, but she was just a human being; no match for an enraged Nietzschean.

“No broken bones,” the avatar said in relief. “There are a few bruises… ugly ones, but they’ll heal on their own. Do you need something for the pain?”

“No, thanks,” Yau took a few deep breaths, relieved that it didn’t cause her any problems. “I’m a breather, I’m used to being slapped around by Nietzscheans. I’ve suffered worse.”

“Good,” Freya said snidely. “Then maybe you’ll be smart enough to stay away from my husband.”

“I don’t have to come anywhere near to him,” the colonel replied. “I'll have a forensics team here by noon and a security team to take the assassin into custody.”

Freya turned her bitter look to Dylan. “Is _this_ your ‘justice for everyone’, Captain Hunt?”

Dylan shook his head. “No need to worry, Freya. This is _my_ ship. I have jurisdiction here, and I won't have a horde of outsiders trampling on a crime scene.”

Colonel Yau gave him an unbelieving look. “So what do you propose to do? Incarcerate the killer in your private prison?”

“Of course not,” Dylan said. “The _Andromeda_ is not a prison ship. When we identify the killer, I'll turn him over to Castalia for trial.”

“When we _identify_ the killer?” Yau repeated, completely bewildered. “What is there to identify? We all saw it! We were there!”

“If I remember correctly, you were standing in the corridor with the rest of us,” Freya said coldly. “I entered the Observations deck before you, and all I saw were both men lying on the floor. Or do you have eyes that can penetrate the bulkhead?”

Dylan raised both hands. “Ladies, please. We saw the aftermath, not the crime. I promise you, Colonel, you'll be involved in every step of the investigation. But this _will_ be an investigation, not a witch hunt.”

The Castalian woman didn’t answer right away. For an endless moment, she watched the two Nietzscheans with cold hatred in her eyes. Finally, she nodded.

“As you wish,” and left.

“You better hurry up with your investigation, Captain Hunt” Freya said grimly. “Castalia has the death penalty for murder. And right now, there are twenty billion vengeful people down on that planet, all of them thirsting for Tyr’s blood.”

“They can’t declare him guilty without a proof,” Dylan said. Freya shook her head with something akin to pity in her eyes.

“Captain, just how naïve are you? He is Nietzschean. That fact alone would be enough for them to find him guilty. And his dramatic entrée during the banquet certainly didn’t help things.”

“Why didn’t you talk him out of it?” Dylan asked.

“It was not my right to do so,” Freya answered simply. “They were his people. His blood. I’m just his wife.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The following half an hour the command crew spent with watching Chancellor Chandos being sworn in as President, wearing the Presidential armour, and listening to his inflammatory speech broadcast from their own Observations deck, no less. It was an interesting example of dealing with the angry masses. 

“Reverently do I don this armour, in the knowledge that it represents my duties as Shield of the Republic,” Chandos announced. “Citizens of Castalia, I swear by the blood of President Lee, that his murderer will suffer the ultimate justice for his crime.”

“Ultimate justice?” Beka asked with a frown.

“According to Freya, Castalia has the death penalty for murder,” Dylan explained. “Especially when the suspect is a Nietzschean.”

“You can’t really blame them, can you?” Harper asked. “I know what it means to be enslaved by _Übers_ – we didn’t waste much time ‘investigating’ the Drago-Kazov jerk-offs back on Earth either, whenever we could get our hands on one of them.”

“So, are you suggesting that we turn Tyr over to them and be done with the whole thing?” Dylan asked.

“I’m not suggesting anything like that,” Harper shrugged. “I’m just saying that the fish-necks probably won’t wait for the results of our investigation.”

“When all is known, our action will be swift, certain, and final,” Chandos said at the same moment. Harper raised an eyebrow.

“See what I mean, boss?”

“A good thing that the Than are in charge of the med deck,” Beka said. “Not only are they tough, it would also be hard to accuse them of Nietzschean sympathies.”

“Which was exactly the reason why I asked them to guard Tyr,” Dylan nodded. “Any news from Trance?”

“She’s just called,” Harper waved with his hand-held comm unit. “Tyr is regaining consciousness.”

“About time,” Dylan said in relief. “Let’s go then and see what he has to tell.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They found Tyr still barely aware of his surroundings, while Trance was fussing over him, and Freya was holding his hand. Beka exchanged a quick look with the Nietzschean woman, and Freya shook her head slightly, signalling that Tyr hadn’t said a thing so far.

“Tyr,” Hunt leaned over the Nietzschean who, Beka found, was a prime example of gorgeous, bare-chested maleness, even in his weakened status. Not that she wanted to compete with Freya, but a woman could at least _look_ , right? “Tyr, it's Dylan.“

Tyr opened an eye with a groan and gave him an exasperated look. “So it is.”

“Do you know where you are?” Dylan asked.

Tyr opened his other eye, too. His gaze swept over the room with clinical efficiency, taking in the medical equipment, Trance, the Marias… and the Emerald Than warriors standing right and left from the door.

“I'm in medical,” he concluded. “And I'm obviously under guard. What for?”

“What's the last thing you remember?” Dylan asked carefully.

Tyr shrugged – as well as he was able to, while lying on his back. “You have visited me in our quarters. We had a… disagreement about me apologizing to President Lee.”

Dylan frowned. “So you don't remember being on Obs Deck with the president?”

“No,” Tyr said with narrowing eyes. “But I'm going to assume our meeting didn't go well.”

“You can say that,” Dylan replied dryly. “While you were alone with President Lee, he was killed with two shots from your force lance.”

“I was _alone_ with him?” Tyr repeated in surprise. “Why in the Known Worlds would I do so? Wasn’t it meant to be a public apology? Although I still don’t know how you managed to talk me into it.”

“He gave you an ultimatum,” Freya explained. “You chose to give in, in exchange of remaining aboard the _Andromeda_. You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

Tyr shook his head – then winced immediately. The harmless gesture caused him blinding pain. “What happened to _me_?”

“We don’t really know,” Trance said. “You were found, unconscious and in the state of shock, next to the president’s body. The loss of short-time memory comes from the shock. It might even itself out in time… or not. There’s a chance you’ll never regain those memories.”

Tyr nodded thoughtfully. Then he looked at Dylan. “Have you worked out who did it?”

Before Dylan could have even thought of an answer, the computer chimed in: “Captain, passive sensors are detecting movement on the Castalian moon.”

“Their main defensive centre,” Tyr supplied helpfully, seeing Dylan’s blank look. “Their space fortress, so to say. The very place from where they launched the attack against the Völsung fleet – _and_ the orbital habitat – eighteen years ago.”

“And the same place where I'm registering a massive launch from the surface right now,” the computer image of _Andromeda_ added.

Dylan swore softly under his breath. “Great. Just great. How many?”

“Over three hundred ships, and they're heading straight towards us.”

“They are no match for the _Andromeda_ , Captain,” Freya commented cynically, apparently finding nothing wrong with the destruction of three hundred Castalian ships, including their crews, in protection of her husband. Dylan gave her an exasperated look, wondering whether he truly used to understand Nietzscheans, back in his own time, or had been delusional in his assumptions.

“That’s not the point, Freya.”

“It is – for me,” Freya replied coolly. It was the typical attitude of a female alpha wolf, protecting her pack by any means necessary. Something the Nietzscheans had included into their genetic make-up and refined to perfection.

Dylan shook his head. “I don’t have time for this. Beka, take over command for me on the bridge. Rommie, call the crew to the command deck. Ask Born to Starfire to join us. We need the support of the Than when dealing with the Castalians.”

“No need to worry, Captain,” one of the Than warriors, who happened to be Sword of Midnight, cackled. “We have everything under control here.”

“I hope so,” Dylan murmured, several possible battle scenarios occupying his mind as he jogged out, followed by Beka.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Beka, Rev Bem, Harper and Born to Starfire were already waiting for Dylan on the command deck when he arrived. The reason for this was his short visit in Chandos’ quarters. A short and fruitless one.

“Apparently, the Castalian military high command has decided that their new president is a hostage on our ship,” he told them, and since it’s their policy _never_ to bargain with hostage takers, they’ve simply launched an armada to free him.”

“A sound policy,” Born to Starfire commented. “A government shouldn’t let itself be blackmailed. But surely, the president would tell them he’s safe… unless, of course, they believe that he is under duress.”

“Which is exactly what he assumes,” Dylan said.

Born to Starfire tilted her head to one side. “Curious that he’s allowed things to escalate like this. High-ranking politicians usually have a wide variety of signals to tell their co-workers when they are forced to make false statements. Someone who used to be a freedom fighter should be able to find a way. I have the impression that President Chandos is using this whole… situation to achieve some personal goal.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Beka asked.

The Diamond Than waggled her antennae – this time the gesture was meant to represent a shrug. “I can’t be sure… But the fact is, yesterday Chandos was chancellor. Today he is president. That's quite a promotion. But whatever his true motives are, I would suggest that you deliver the killer to Castalian custody. Unless you want to destroy their entire fleet, that is.”

“But if we turn Tyr over to the Castalians, what will they do with him?” Beka asked.

“Put him on trial, I’d say,” Dylan replied with a shrug. “Probably a big, showy one.”

Beka raised a sceptical eyebrow. “A fair trial?”

“Chandos' personality _is_ abrasive,” Dylan admitted, frowning, “but his reputation is spotless. And Lee was... well, he was Sebastian Lee.”

“Which is your long-winded way of saying you hope so,” Beka commented dryly, clearly not believing it.

“Regardless of President Chandos’ reputation, I won’t bet your Nietzschean’s life on the fairness of a trial held on Castalia,” Born to Starfire said. “The judges might be slightly… influenced by the fact that he _is_ a Nietzschean. Now, I personally don’t care if he lives or dies, but are _you_ willing to take that risk?”

“If you're asking me, would I betray an innocent man just to get my Commonwealth, the answer is no,” Dylan replied stiffly.

“That’s very noble of you, Captain,” the Diamond Than said. “But it seems to me that there is one question none of you wants to ask.”

“Which is?” Beka asked defensively, knowing all too well what the Than wanted to ask. And indeed, she was just about to do so.

“What if Tyr Anasazi _isn't_ an innocent man?” Born to Starfire asked bluntly.

There was a long, meaningful silence, finally broken by Harper, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Well… it's not like he doesn't kill people. I mean, hell, it used to be his day job.”

“Yeah, but nobody hired Tyr to kill Lee,” Beka pointed out. Then she remembered Chandos’ possible motivation and looked around, suddenly doubtful. “Did they?”

“Unlikely,” Rev Bem said. “President Lee was the beloved hero of his people. And the Völsung have been eradicated eighteen years ago. Regardless of the fact if Tyr’s accusations are true or not.”

“True enough,” Born to Starfire said, “but that doesn’t mean the Nietzschean wouldn’t execute vengeance on his own.”

“Under different circumstances, I would agree,” the Magog nodded. “But let me ask you something. What’s a Nietzschean’s highest imperative?”

“Becoming a husband and a father,” Dylan said with a shrug. “So what? Tyr _is_ a husband… although he isn’t a father.”

“Not yet,” Rev Bem said. “But soon enough. No Nietzschean would ever take such inane risks while having his pregnant wife with him.”

Stunned silence followed his words. Beka was the first to recover from her surprise, as usual. “Rev… how can you be so sure? I mean, Freya doesn’t even show yet.”

“The scent,” the Magog explained, extremely pleased with himself. “Pregnancy changes the pheromone levels, and as a result it changes the way a woman smells.”

“You mean you can smell the baby in her?” Beka asked in a mild shock. Rev Bem nodded with a satisfaction that seemed positively… creepy. Like someone who was looking forward to a particularly tasty morsel.

“How long have you known?” Dylan asked.

“From the day on Freya came aboard,” the Magog answered simply.

“And you never said a word?” There was a positively accusatory tone in Dylan’s voice.

Rev Bem shrugged. “It wasn’t my place to tell anyone.”

“But why would Tyr keep something like that secret?” Harper asked, a little bewildered. “Don’t Niets usually brag with their children?”

“For safety reasons, maybe,” Rev Bem looked at the Diamond Than apologetically. “No offence intended, but he might have thought that our guests don’t have the warmest feelings for his wife.”

“We don’t,” Born to Starfire said calmly. “She’s an Orca, after all, and her people have caused us enough trouble. Nevertheless, the Magog is right. The Nietzschean wouldn’t risk his child growing up without a father and a Pride. Not even for his vengeance.”

“I tend to agree,” Dylan admitted. “But how do we prove it?”

“What about reconstructing the crime?” Beka suggested. “I’m sure Rommie and Harper could put something together. Checking out the force lance that killed President Lee might be useful, too.”

Dylan looked around. The others nodded in agreement. “All right,” he said, “let’s do it. We still have time until the Castalian forces arrive.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They couldn’t do much in what little time they had, but Rommie and Harper actually managed to come up with a rough reconstruction of the crime, and Dylan took it with him to show it their main suspect on a medical deck computer. He found Freya still there, of course. Tyr might not have told his wife everything, but Nietzschean family ties were very strong.

Sitting on his bed, Tyr watched a ‘himself’ shooting President Lee, then being shocked by his own force lance dispassionately. He looked positively… insulted.

“That's the most pathetic and ill-planned excuse for an assassination I've ever seen,” he judged. “And I speak as one who has had some... slight experience in these matters.”

“I’m sure you do,” Dylan said. “I assume you would have done things differently?”

Tyr shrugged. “You want suggestions? Very well. Method number one: Slow acting poison in his food.”

“That’d be a bit obvious, wouldn’t it?” Dylan asked.

“True, but there’d be no sure way to connect it to me,” Tyr pointed out reasonably. “Method number two: Nanobots in his shuttle, timed for re-entry. The shuttle burns up and leaves no evidence. Method number three: A dart tipped with stonefish toxin.”

“Stonefish toxin?” Freya frowned. “Isn’t that a little primitive? I didn’t know people still used that one.”

“Primitive, yeah,” Tyr agreed, “but also undetectable. It mimics heart failure – a very useful result. Actually, more people use it than you’d think.”

“No evidence being the key word again, right?” Dylan asked sarcastically, but Tyr nodded, all business now.

“Exactly. Now, I could have arranged for his breathing apparatus to fail, or perhaps I might have replaced his...”

Dylan raised both hands. “I get the picture, I get the picture!”

“Good,” Tyr shrugged again. “Then there can only be one conclusion. I'm innocent.”

“Because you never would have gotten caught?” Dylan asked, not quite convinced yet.

“Precisely,” Tyr paused. “Well then, now that that's out of the way, I guess this is the part where you suggest that the greater good requires my surrender, correct?”

“Your _surrender_?” Dylan repeated, his mouth literally hanging open. Tyr gave him a steady look.

“You _are_ planning to turn me over to the Castalians, regardless if I am guilty or innocent, aren’t you?”

“Is that what _you_ would do?” Dylan asked. Tyr smiled; it was a thin smile and very, very unpleasant.

“If the stakes were high enough… yeah, I would definitely do it.”

“Well, then you should be thankful that I’m not about to sacrifice any innocents on the altar of my ambitions,” Dylan riposted indignantly.

“For a man determined to cook history's greatest omelette, you're awfully squeamish about cracking your eggs, Captain,” Tyr said with a shrug. “That’s a weakness that might cost you your dreams, in the end. But I’m surprised that you won’t even try to persuade me to ‘consider the greater good’ – I think that’d be the proper phrase.”

Dylan looked at him doubtfully. “Would you be willing to sacrifice yourself for the cause, although you are supposedly innocent?”

“Of course not!” Tyr said with a derisive snort. “You’d have to kill me first, and trust me, Captain Hunt, that wouldn’t be an easy task. Not even if I were alone. Which I am not.”

“Yeah, but Freya wouldn’t be able to fight for you, full force… in her condition,” Dylan said smugly. Tyr shot him a sharp look, full of malevolence.

“How… ah. The Magog. I could have counted on it. So, now that you do have an advantage again – what are you doing with it?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Dylan said flatly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time, Beka and Harper were already working on the second task appointed to the engineer: checking out Tyr’s force lance.

“Look, boss,” Harper fastened the collapsed lance in a small holder atop the podest in the middle of the big, circular scanner, “I don’t wish Tyr or his family any harm, really. All I'm saying is... and it may sound a little selfish..."

“That we turn him over to the Castalians and express our condolences to Freya later,” Beka finished, disapprovingly.

Harper shrugged. “Well, sometimes you gotta throw a wolf to the wolves to keep the rest of us from getting eaten.”

“Oh, please!” Beka rolled her eyes; something she did frequently around Harper. “I could swat that fishing fleet of theirs in the _Maru_.”

Harper grinned at her amiably. “Yeah, and you'd eat them for lunch.” He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Hmmm… fishing fleet, you’re saying?” Do fish people eat fish? Or is it like humans eating monkeys or apes?”

Beka laughed. “Harper, you are impossible.”

“And he’s wrong, too,” Dylan said, entering in Colonel Yau’s company. “The Castalians aren’t amphibic. They’re genetically engineered to breathe water, but still human.”

“Are you sure?” Beta asked. “Have you seen some of the more… advanced subspecies? Because I have… And they sure looked like fish to me.”

“I _am_ sure,” Dylan said. “Besides, humans do eat monkeys. Humans eat other humans, too, occasionally. As a species, we are really quite unpleasant.”

“Speak for yourself,” Beka riposted snidely.

“Can we discuss this later?” Dylan’s tone revealed that it wasn’t really a question. “So, Mr. Harper, you care to update us on the investigation?”

“Gladly,” Harper flashed them a goofy grin. “I'm completely at the colonel's disposal. And I mean _completely_.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Colonel Yau ignored his innuendo.

“I'm sure you do,” she said flatly, not noticing the curious look with which Beka was staring at her hand.

Neither did Harper, who already launched into a lengthy explanation about force lances. “OK. Weaponry 101. The force lance is the High Guard's favourite toy...”

“Harper,” Dylan warned, “we don’t have all day to listen to your silly jokes.” Then, turning to the colonel, he added. “The force lance is actually a multifunctional tool. It’s not only a weapon. Retracted, it can be used as a light source or a scanner, too,” he snapped his lance open, showing that it was almost longer than Harper was high, “and deployed, it serves as a kind of quarterstaff. In either configuration, it can fire so-called effectors – these are basically smart bullets.”

“As unbelievable as it might sound, Captain Hunt, I’m actually familiar with the workings of a force lance,” Yau said dryly. “We might not be at the same technical level the High Guard used to be in the heydays of the old Commonwealth, but we are not idiots. Before I came aboard, I’d consulted the database about High Guard weaponry.”

Dylan seemed slightly insulted by the rejection of his helpful comments. “Very well, Colonel. It seems we can skip the introduction, then, and go straight to the point. What have you found, Harper?”

Harper considerably subdued now, gestured towards Tyr's force lance.

“This force lance has recently fired two effectors,” he said. “Timestamp matches President Lee's death. However, according to the internal sensors, the effectors were fired at a low velocity straight down toward the deck.”

“What?” Dylan asked in surprise. “That can’t be. Why would Tyr target the deck when the person he supposedly assassinated was standing practically in front of him?”

“Beats me,” Harper replied with a shrug. “Whatever the reason, this was clearly the way of the bullets. As they slowed to zero, they each acquired the target and then attacked on their own power, like a couple of bats out of H-E-double-hockey-sticks.”

“Kind of an indirect way to shoot someone,” Beka commented thoughtfully.

Harper nodded. “You're telling me. And that's not the weird part. There was a full capacitor discharge that matches Tyr's electric shock.”

“That’s impossible,” Dylan protested with a frown. “Force lances are keyed to the owner's DNA. If it shocked him, it wasn't his force lance.”

“Oh, it definitely was his,” Yau snarled. She handed Dylan a flexi. Once again, Beka stared at the back of her hand. Or, to be more accurate, at the rather large and ugly, oval tattoo on it. This time Dylan, too, followed Beka’s look and raised a questionable eyebrow. Beka shook her head behind Yau’s back and mouthed soundlessly, _Later!_

“These are the weapon IDs that _Andromeda_ downloaded,” Yau continued. “Look for yourself: the serial numbers match. The murder was committed with the Nietzschean's force lance. The murder was committed by the Nietzschean.”

“Why would he shock himself?” Beka asked with a frown, folding her arms as if in a challenge. This just didn’t make any sense.

“Maybe he wanted it to look like he'd been attacked,” Yau said, as if this would have been the most logical answer. If they weren’t speaking about a Nietzschean, she might even be right. But they _were_ speaking about a Nietzschean, and this simple fact made her logic faulty.

Which gave Dylan just the right argument.

“Nietzscheans don't deliberately injure themselves,” he pointed out. “It's against their survival instinct.” Then he added, practically echoing Beka’s most recent thought. “You know, none of this makes any sense.”

“Assassinating Sebastian Lee doesn't make sense,” Yau spat, clearly furious now. “The accusation of the Nietzschean doesn’t make sense. So what if he chose an eccentric way to shoot the president? Assassins have been known to be eccentric.”

Harper gave her a fairly unbelieving look. “Are you kidding? _Eccentric? Tyr?_ Sorry, not buying that. He is... uh… overbearing, self-righteous, vain, vicious, brutal, way too serious, and a little big, yeah. But eccentric? No.”

“Besides, he’s a committed professional,” Beka added. “He’d never have handled in such an amateurish manner. Less than an hour ago, he counted four different ways how an assassination like this should have been done better, _without_ a hint of suspicion falling towards him.”

“Are you sure that wasn’t just an evasive maneuver to mislead you?” Yau asked. “Nietzscheans are notoriously untrustworthy. You of all people should know this. You were the one to fight them in the Battle of Hephaestus, when they betrayed the old Commonwealth.”

“Are you sure this isn't less about justice than it is about pinning the murder on Tyr?” Dylan riposted. The woman’s almost-obsessive pursuit of Tyr was getting on his nerves,

“Pinning?” Yau repeated in clear outrage. “Pinning? That Nietzschean was alone in a room with someone that he had every reason in three galaxies to want dead. That person is now dead. And with all your hemming and hawing, all you've succeeded in doing is to prove that he was shot with your man's gun. Thank you for the information. I'll make sure it's conveyed to the proper authorities.”

Without any further comments, she turned on her heels and marched out. The others looked after her with mixed feelings.

“Well, score another point for informed cooperation,” Beka finally said.

Dylan looked at her curiously. “Care to tell me why you were staring at her hand as if she had been wearing the seal ring of the Vedran Empress?”

“No ring,” Beka said with a small laugh; the mere idea of Colonel Yau wearing jewellery was just ridiculous. The woman reminded her of a robot, more than Rommie’s drones. Even that Prince Ironheart hairdo looked like a particularly bad wig. Why Harper thought she was hot was beyond her comprehension.

But again, Harper tended to find anything on two legs hot, as long as it was female.

“No ring,” she repeated, “but I saw something else on her hand that made me... curious. You know, in the old days, I used to do background checks on the people who were hiring me. Better safe than sorry, we always said. I think we should do something like that.”

Dylan nodded. “Exactly what I was thinking. I think Tyr might be interested in the results, too.”

“Or he might be able to help me find them,” Beka replied, already on her way out. She had a suspicion that needed to be confirmed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Here,” Beka said, only minutes later, handing Tyr a flexi with the vague likeness of Yau’s tattoo. ”Do you know this mark?”

Tyr gave the image a cursory look. “Of course. It’s the Völsung Pride insignia. Where’s it from?”

“It’s tattooed on Colonel Ironpants’ hand,” Beka explained.

“Then she was a slave,” Freya said.

“Or worked for the Völsung as an employee,” Beka said. Freya shook her head.

“Nietzscheans don’t brand their employees. We brand our slaves. Well, the ones who keep slaves, anyway.”

“But if she _was_ a slave, that would mean that her family…” Beka trailed off.

“… died on the Völsung habitat with the other forced labourers,” Freya finished for her. “An excellent motive, if I ever saw one. What if she learned about Lee having ordered the destruction of the Völsung and their human slaves?”

“Her adoration for Lee would have turned into hatred,” Beka nodded. “It makes sense. Revenge is always a popular dish. I’m going to speak with Dylan… well, _after_ we’re done with our enraged Castalian visitors, who’re about to arrive… well, right now.”

“As for me, I think I’ll have a chat with the lovely colonel,” Tyr said.

“Tyr, I don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”

“Don’t worry, Captain Valentine. I don’t intend to provoke her… too much.”

Beka didn’t find Tyr’s wolfish grin very reassuring, but there was little she could do about it. Especially with a Castalian ship reaching the _Andromeda_ and its crew trying to force their way into Hangar 3.


	7. A Slip of Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A careless remark from the Castalians makes Tyr go on the hunt for possible Völsung survivors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter to stay this close to the original. From now on, we’ll go more into the gap-filling and AU directions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 6 - A Slip Of Tongue**

When he reached the corridor leading to Hangar 3, Dylan was surprised to find Glittering Starlight waiting for him.

“I thought you could use some help here,” the Ruby Than explained nonchalantly. “Mr. Harper was friendly enough to give me this force lance and told me to ‘watch my posterior’, I think was the expression he chose.”

Dylan grinned, despite the tense situation. “Wouldn’t that be the job of your warriors?”

“They watch the Nietzscheans and the command deck, respectively,” Glittering Starlight replied. “Besides, I like a good brawl as much as your next bug.”

They both chuckled – Dylan always liked working with Than, they had such a refreshing view on the universe in general, and a weird sense of humour no other race seemed to possess – only to be interrupted by the holo-image of _Andromeda_ flickering into existence in front of them.

“Captain, the Castalians are trying to override the door controls. Should I just let them in?”

“Sure,” Dylan answered, with an almost manic gleam in his pale eyes. “Let them feel like they're accomplishing something. Now,” he turned to the Ruby Than,” try to lure the first ones who enter further down the corridor. And when I say ‘now!’, grab the first ladder and jump on it, unless you want to be electrocuted.”

“Understood,” Glittering Starlight nodded. “You want them alive, I assume. Or should I simply shoot at their water tanks and be done with it?”

“Nah,” Dylan was climbing one of the ladders already,” I can’t just have potential members of the Commonwealth killed. That’d ruin my credibility, don’t you think?”

“True," the Ruby Than admitted. “Here they come… took them long enough to get that door overridden. Amateurs…”

The hangar doors slid apart, and a couple of Castalian water-breathers entered, wearing those ugly, metallic-blue uniforms of the militia and on their backs the square, black water tanks, which made them capable of breathing in a non-liquid atmosphere. They detected the Ruby Than aiming her force lance at them at once, and lunged to knock her out before she could shoot them.

“You are slow for fish,” Glittering Starlight teased, sidestepping, and instead of firing, she smacked down at the nearest one’s skull with the extended force lance. The man went down with a loud _thud_. The other one aimed his weapon at the Than, who ducked out of the firing line with surprising ease for someone with a stiff exoskeleton, and zigzagged away, down the corridor, luring him further away from the hangar.

The Castalian forgot about checking his surroundings in the heat of the pursuit and was a little shocked when Dylan slid down a ladder and blocked his way.

“Welcome aboard,” Dylan said pleasantly, aiming a punch at the man’s midsection. The Castalian dodged and tried to knock him off – he was one of the subspecies Beka had spoken of earlier: large, square, dark-skinned and heavily muscled; and he had a mean left hook. Dylan mentally thanked his late mother for her modified heavy-worldler genes; without them, he’d have been out cold by now.

But he had to handle quickly anyway, as he was rapidly losing the advantage of surprise, and two more Castalians from the same stocky build came running already. Fortunately, he had come prepared for all opportunities.

He rammed the blunt end of his still retracted force lance into the sensitive throat of his opponent, hoping that he hadn’t damaged the breathing apparatus – another death was the last thing he wanted in the current situation – then he charged the weapon and dropped it.

“Now!” he called out to the Ruby Than.

They both jumped onto the nearest ladder, as the force lance electrified the floor, zapping the Castalians unconscious.

“Nice work,” Glittering Starlight commented with appreciation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
A few minutes later, when the invaders were safely stored in the holding cells on V-deck courtesy of Rommie’s droids, they returned to the command deck to meet a visibly upset Colonel Yau. Born to Starfire was still occupying the command chair, shimmering like a pearl and obviously enjoying her temporary importance very much. Beka was sitting in the slipstream chair, giving the colonel unfriendly looks, while Harper checked some diagrams on one of the computer screens and Rev Bem watched everything from the background, taking up his usual, serene posture.

“Captain,” Colonel Yau said, clearly unhappy with the recent events, “the Castalian government would like to make it clear that this attack was an unauthorized action by civilian militia.”

“I'm sure they would,” Beka muttered in a hostile manner. Not that she wouldn’t trust Tyr to kill anyone if it served to his advantage, but she genuinely believed that this time the Nietzschean was not to blame. Besides, Tyr was part of the crew now, and for Beka that meant family. _Nobody_ messed with Beka’s family.

“Thank you for avoiding any bloodshed,” Yau was still speaking to Dylan. “I'm not sure we would have done the same in your place.”

“We don’t doubt _that_ ,” Beka commented darkly. “After all, you are awfully eager to hang Tyr, never wasting a thought for other possible suspects.”

“What other suspects?” Yau raised a thin, strangely colourless eyebrow in a superior manner that made Beka’s trigger finger itch.

“Your newly acquired president, for example,” she said.

The thin eyebrow arched even higher. “My dear Captain Valentine,” Yau said in an infuriatingly patronizing manner, “you're grasping at straws.”

“Am I,” Beka replied, withstanding the urge to hit the other woman. “Has President Lee’s untimely death not brought Mr. Chandos the promotion of presidentship? That’s an opportunity one doesn’t get too often.”

“Hardly,” Yau said. “He would have gotten his promotion even if Lee were still alive. Why take such risks to acquire something that was his already?”

“Maybe he got impatient,” Dylan offered mildly. “How long would he have had to wait? Ten years? Twenty?”

“Three _days_ , Captain,” Yau answered dryly. She noticed the stunned faces with grim satisfaction. “Sebastian Lee was planning to resign as soon as the Commonwealth Charter was ratified. It was to be his last significant act as president. Chandos would've taken over shortly thereafter – and he knew that. Now, if you've finished insulting our elected officials, I have a report to make."

“Not so hastily, Colonel. I want you to look at something.” Dylan looked at Harper. “Are you through with your analysis?”

“All done, boss,” Harper pulled up a graphic of a force lance on the viewscreen of his workstation. Yau rolled her eyes.

“More schematics. How… interesting.”

“Bear with me,” Dylan said with forced patience. “I think we have actually found something. Mr. Harper, care to enlighten us?”

“Sure,” the engineer said brightly. “The Harper is good. Well, as we’ve established already, each force lance is keyed to the DNA of its owner. That’s why I needed a genetic sample from you before I gave you one,” he added, looking at the Ruby Than.”

“What’d have happened if I tried to use, say, the captain’s force lance?” Glittering Starlight asked.

“The capacitor would have discharged, shocked you unconscious,” Harper explained cheerfully. “Just as it did with the fish people down at Hangar 3.”

But the weapon that killed President Lee _was_ that of the Nietzschean,” Yau insisted. “The serial numbers confirm it. It wouldn't have shocked him.”

“The ‘Nietzschean’ has got a name, you know,” Beka remarked snidely.

“Not now, Beka!” Dylan snapped. Then, turning back to the colonel, he continued. “Normally, you'd be right. But a force lance can also be operated by remote control, if necessary. That’s how I took out your... concerned citizens, a few minutes ago.”

“Remote control?” Yau repeated, somewhat blankly.

“With the right codes, a force lance can be controlled from the… outside to say so,” Harper supplied helpfully. “It can be done either by voice, laser impulses, or microwave transmission.”

“Fascinating,” Yau said dryly. “But I still don’t see what this should prove. This is the Nietzschean’s weapon. Your own investigation proves that it has discharged two effectors,” she pointed at the other viewscreen with the rough ‘reconstruction of the crime’ played on it. “Those effectors killed President Lee. The weapon was found in the Nietzschean’s hand. The only thing I still don’t understand, why the lance should have shocked him, since it was his own.”

“Because Tyr's command of his sidearm had been taken from him,” Dylan replied. “The control over the weapon was somehow assigned to someone else.”

“How? And to whom?” Yau’s doubt was as evident as it was understandable. Dylan shrugged.

“I don’t know – not yet. But I’m going to find out, for whoever controlled the weapon was also responsible for President Lee’s death.”

“And just how do you intend to find it out?” Yau asked, more suspicious than ever.

“Computer records should be helpful,” Dylan said. “ _Andromeda_ , have you intercepted any transmissions at the time of President Lee's death?”

“Accessing records,” the computer replied crisply. “Affirmative. There was a low-frequency microwave transmission detectable outside Obs Deck.” 

Dylan’s head napped up. “Origination?”

“The transmission originated from a communications port in the observation deck itself,” the computer told him. Dylan frowned.

“Can you check who had access to that port at the given time?”

“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Rommie interrupted, entering at that very moment. “ _I_ control that port, and no one else has accessed it for days. Which leaves only one conclusion: _I killed_ President Lee.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Of course, Harper was the first to break the stunned silence, protective of his creation as always, like some kind of Pygmalion out of his time.

“That’s ridiculous, Rom-doll,” he protested. “What possible reason would you have to harm Mr. Fish-neck?”

“None,” Rommie admitted in apparent confusion. “But my records clearly indicate that I gave that order.”

“And you remember doing it?” Dylan asked.

“No,” Rommie said. “But that doesn’t change the facts. Memory is just a function of information retrieval – it can malfunction easily. The information itself, though, is there. I did it.”

“That’s not good enough,” Dylan said. “Mr. Harper, run a complete diagnostic on Rommie’s programming. I want to find out what happened, how and why.”

“So do I,” Yau said. “But first, I must consult the president. If you excuse me…”

This time, nobody hindered her in leaving. Harper started the diagnostics immediately. Then he turned to Dylan.

“Listen, boss, we can’t let the fish-necks have Rommie. She’s… she’s a member of the crew, right? No less than Tyr, correct?”

“That’s correct, yes,” Dylan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you have in that devious mind of yours, Harper? If it’s useful, tell us, quickly. We don’t have much time.”

“Very well,” Harper said. “It’s simple, actually. We download Rommie’s personality into my neural net until we get this sorted out.”

Everyone stared at him with open mouths – including the Than, who usually weren’t so easy to surprise.

“You are clearly insane,” Born to Starfire commented. Harper gave her an angry look.

“As you are some big shot among bugs, I assume you are familiar with Castalian legal code,” he spat.

“Of course I am,” the Diamond Than replied calmly. “I’m a member of the ruler caste. Knowing such things is part of my job.”

“Fine,” Harper growled. “Then you know what they do to an AI who commits murder, right? They _disassemble_ it!”

“In the Commonwealth, we did the same,” Rommie commented matter-of-factly. “Complete personality reinitialization. The only secure way to clear out core programming. Radical, but necessary method to ensure everyone’s safety.”

“Yeah, but they can't erase you if they can't find you,” Harper pointed out. Dylan shook his head.

“Harper, Born to Starfire is right. This is insane.”

“Why?” Harper asked defiantly. “I'll just store her data in my cranium until we can solve this stupid mystery. Piece of cake for the Harper. C’me on, Rommie, interface with me. It's the closest I'm ever gonna get anyway.”

As ridiculous as the whole thing sounded, not to mention the suggestive waggling of Harper’s eyebrows and the overdone lewd expression on his animated face, not even Dylan could help being touched by his offer.

“Harper,” Rommie said with uncharacteristic fondness, “that would work for about a millisecond. Then your brain would fry like an egg on a plasma relay.”

“What?” Harper asked, clearly insulted. “You saying you're too smart for me? I’ll have you to know that the Harper is a freaking genius!”

“We all know that,” Rommie smiled, “and it's very sweet of you to offer, really. But I'm a warship. I’m not going to hide from the Castalians.”

“And I’m not gonna let them frigging _destroy_ you!” Harper riposted angrily. “I built you, dammit, and you’re not going to be wiped clear, as long as I have anything to say about it.”

“You haven’t, I’m afraid,” the Diamond Than said calmly. “The legal situation is rather evident in this case. The only way you _might_ help the AI is to find out what really happened.”

“And you should hurry up,” Beka added, “or else we might have to fight the Castalians in earnest – or leave with the unratified Charter.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Marching towards President Chandos’ temporary quarters, it didn’t do any good for Colonel Yau’s already upset mind to run into the two resident Nietzscheans by accident. It’d have probably helped things even less, had she known that the ‘accident’ had been carefully orchestrated by Tyr and involved _Andromeda_ revealing her exact whereabouts. Even so, if glares could kill, Tyr would have certainly fallen dead on the spot.

“What are _you_ doing loose?” Yau demanded, aiming a nasty-looking pistol of considerable firepower at him. She had good reflexes for a _kludge_ , one had to give her that.

“Going home,” Tyr replied amiably. “General consensus is that I am innocent, so there was no need to keep me under guard any longer. Besides, Captain Hunt needs those bugs to fend off intruders. Maybe you’ve heard about it?

The murderous glare of the colonel never turned from him, nor did the pistol that she held in a death grip.

“You're many things, Nietzschean,” she spat with the venom only one who had been subjected to Nietzschean overlordship could produce, “but innocent is not _one_ of them.”

Tyr weighed his opportunities carefully. As much as she felt the urge to make some derogative _kludge_ remark, provoking the already irate woman aiming a lethal weapon at him wouldn’t have been wise. Yau most likely had proper training in the use of that… thing.

“I imagine that makes two of us,” he finally said calmly.

For a moment, he thought the colonel would actually shoot him.

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?” she demanded indignantly.

“ _That_ was a compliment,” Freya explained sweetly. “He was congratulating you on committing the perfect crime. It was you who killed your president, wasn’t it?”

Yau gave a very un-ladylike snort.

“I won't even dignify this ridiculous accusation with a reply,” she said.

“No?” Tyr asked. “But it would make so much sense for you to kill Lee, and then arrange for _me_ to take the blame. You know full well that no Castalian would ever believe an innocent Nietzschean.”

“Your own behaviour is proof enough for that,” Freya added. “And you had the specs on Tyr’s weapon – by your own request, if I may add.”

Yau shook her head in honest exasperation. “That's insane,” she said. “Why would I do that? Lee was like a father to me.”

“ _After_ he had ordered the death of your family – that of all people,” Tyr answered.

“Sebastian Lee never made that order!” Yau protested vehemently. “Why should he have his fellow humans killed and allow some of those bastards to escape?”

“Nobody is perfect,” Tyr commented dryly. “He made a mistake, it seems.”

“No, he didn’t,” Yau said determinedly. “If I believed for _one_ minute that he did, I would have killed him myself.”

“May we have that in writing?” Freya asked with a sickeningly sweet smile.

Yau glared at her for a moment, eyes filled with old pain and bone-deep hatred. Then she turned on her heel and practically fled from their presence, overwhelmed by bitter memories.

Freya looked after her thoughtfully. “That was… interesting.”

“Indeed,” Tyr agreed. “Now, that my memories start returning, I can remember Lee saying something about that I’d ‘never find what I’m looking for’ without his help.”

“The Völsung?” Freya guessed. Tyr nodded.

“Apparently, some of them _have_ escaped, after all. I’ll have to find them.”

“Of course,” Freya said. “They are your people. Do you believe that Yau knows something?”

“Possibly. But she’d never tell me.”

“You’ll have to search for every Nietzschean name in the Castalian records,” Freya said gloomily. “If they allow you to take a look at them, that is.”

“I don’t intend to ask their permission,” Tyr growled. “Maybe I can persuade Harper to hack into their archive. If not, there’s always the Perseids.”

“Why would they help you?” Freya asked doubtfully. “Our people aren’t exactly popular on Sinti IV, either.”

“True, but they need alliances aboard this ship just as much as we do,” Tyr shrugged. “I don’t believe that someone of Höhne’s importance would come personally, if they didn’t have their own hidden agenda.”

“Which would be – what?” Freya asked. Tyr shrugged again.

“I don’t know. Not yet, anyway, although I’d like to find out. Maybe they want access to the ship, to see if they could get their hands on it someway.”

“But you won’t let them do that, will you?” That wasn’t really a question, but Tyr answered it anyway.

“No, I won’t,” he said with a wolfish grin. “Well, since I seem to be cleared from suspicion, I’ll go to the command deck and see how the investigations go.”

“Be careful,” Freya warned. “There are still Castalians all over the ship.”

“Don’t worry,” Tyr kissed her soundly. “I am _always_ careful.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Reaching the command deck, he found Dylan and Beka in the middle of a slightly amused conversation.

“So, Harper confessed to the murder, huh?” Beka was asking, just as he entered.

“He tried," Dylan replied, shaking his head.

“What was his excuse?” Tyr asked incredulously, not believing it for a second. Not that he’d think Harper incapable of killing someone if necessary, he just couldn’t think of a sound reason for the engineer killing Lee.

Dylan gave him a distracted glance. “Oh, hi Tyr. Well, he said he ‘didn't like their stupid fish music’. But basically, I think he just wanted to save Rommie.”

“He wanted to sacrifice himself to save a _machine_?” Tyr rolled his eyes. “The boy is clearly insane.”

“Everyone keep telling him that,” Beka said, “but personally, I think his heart's in the right place. He’d do the same for you, Tyr.”

“Which would be just as insane,” Tyr pointed out.

“Well, I appreciate his loyalty,” Dylan said. “But what we really need is solve this crime. I hope he’ll be able to track down the hacker.”

“I dunno, Dylan,” Beka said with a shrug. “Maybe we should cut our losses. Is Castalia truly worth all the effort? There are a million other worlds out there…”

“Plenty of fish in the sea?” Dylan asked dryly.

“You said it, not me,” Beka replied with an innocent smile. Dylan shook his head.

“My problem isn't leaving… although, with the Perseids and the Than on board, we’d need a damn good reason to do that. My problem is the statement we'd be making that this ship and her crew are somehow above the law, that we're better than the people we're trying to help.”

Beka raised an eyebrow. “Aren't we?”

“Sure we are,” Tyr countered; coming from him, it didn’t exactly sound like a joke. Maybe it wasn’t even intended to.

At Dylan’s dark look, Beka laughed. “Hey! I read the first officer's job description. Play devil's advocate's on page three.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” Dylan muttered darkly; then, glancing at Tyr, he added. “ _Both_ of you.”

Tyr grinned, but before he could have even thought of a snarky reply, Harper burst in, in a most excited state.

“Dylan, you're not gonna believe _this_ ,” he exclaimed.

Beka rolled her eyes. “Oh, no. You're not gonna confess again, are you?”

“I'll resent that tomorrow,” Harper replied blithely, “but for now...” he nudged Dylan away from the console, “excuse me... check _this_ out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
About twenty minutes later, the core crew, once again, gathered on the Observations deck. Born to Starfire was present, too, flanked by Radiance of Wisdom, and so were the Perseids, the Nietzscheans and President Chandos with his aides. Even the Makra passenger made an appearance, watching the unfolding scene with great interest.

“Are you certain that this is gong to work?” Tyr asked Harper in a low voice. The engineer shot him and exasperated look.

“Would I risk Rommie’s existence otherwise?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Tyr paused. “This… action of yours is going to reveal a crime committed against my people as well as prove my innocence. I owe you for that.”

Harper glanced at him warily. “No offence, Tyr, but I couldn’t care less about what happened to a bunch of _Über_ slavers. I’m doing this to save Rommie.”

“I know that,” Tyr replied, “but you have my gratitude nevertheless, as the outcome serves my purposes just as well. Intentions are irrelevant. It’s that actions what count. Which means that I owe you. Should you need my help somewhen in the future, you can count on it.”

“As long as it won’t endanger your survival,” Harper said cynically.

“Of course,” Tyr smirked. “Although I might be willing to take a… certain amount of risk, if necessary.

Harper’s reaction was most amusing – a look half doubt, half incredulous surprise – but he couldn’t continue his little chat with the engineer. Dylan Hunt cleared his throat and stepped up to the podium, looking directly into the ever-present camera of the Castalian press, to address the people who were watching the broadcast directly.

“This is Captain Dylan Hunt of the High Guard,” he announced solemnly. “Investigation has shown that an Artificial Intelligence was involved in the tragic death of your president. In such a case, Commonwealth law demands that the AI's personality be completely erased. I invite you, the people of the Castalian Republic, to observe the law in action. Bring in the prisoner.”

Two Than warriors, namely Celestial Fire and Soaring Winds, led Rommie in. The avatar wore a formal High Guard uniform and looked remarkably calm for an AI who was about to be erased… of course, being a machine probably helped. Harper, still standing next to Tyr, seemed a lot more anxious. In fact, he was fidgeting nervously.

The Nietzschean smirked again. “Getting cold feet, little man?”

“Just see that your force lance won’t malfunction,” Harper hissed.

“It won’t,” Tyr stated calmly, “unless you’ve made a mistake.”

“I don’t make mistakes,” Harper countered angrily; then he apparently remembered the few times when he _had_ made mistakes, because he hurriedly added. “At least, uh, not often. And most definitely none of the technical sort, ya know?”

“Then be quiet and stay prepared,” Tyr said, moving a step or two away from both him and Freya, just to be sure that he won’t injure them by accident.

“President Chandos will bear witness,” Dylan continued, “as I give the codes which will destroy the _Andromeda_ intelligence. _Andromeda Ascendant_ , are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain, I am ready,” Rommie answered calmly.

“Wait a minute!” Beka interrupted when Dylan was about to enter the codes. “We forgot to play the president’s entrance music.”

She touched a button, and the… noise Harper had nicknamed ‘fish music’ started playing. Farrendahl closed her eyes in almost physical pain, her tufted ears twitched. Makra appeared to be particularly… sensitive to certain Castalian frequencies.

Surprisingly enough – at least for those not filled in in advance – President Chandos’ face showed a considerable amount of panic, too.

“Oh, I… I don’t think that would be truly necessary,” he stammered, but Beka ‘Tsk, Tsk’-ed him.

“Now, we want to observe proper protocol,” she replied sweetly. “Is it not what Castalian society is all about?”

“No,” Chandos shouted, seriously panicking now, as Tyr’s force lance started firing, seemingly on its own. “No, no, please, no, stop,” he practically begged, trying to run away, and getting off the presidential armour at the same time.

Dylan gave him the royal eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

“This is a mistake,” Chandos was still ducking from the bullets, working on getting rid of the presidential armour desperately. “I don't understand…”

“Of course you do,” Tyr said with a grim smile. “You're the one that loaded the computer virus into the presidential music.”

“Which is why you never played any for yourself,” Beka added, switching off the annoying noise before anyone could have got sot in the chaos. Farrendahl gave a relieved sigh. The shooting didn’t upset her a bit, but the so-called music…

“After Tyr's behaviour provided you with the perfect cover, you directed _Andromeda_ to kill President Lee,” Dylan continued mercilessly.

“To be accurate, he gave the instruction to kill the man in the presidential breastplate,” Rommie corrected, and Harper nodded, with an almost insane gleam of professional enjoyment in his eyes.

“Recognition software is dicey, isn’t it,” he said gleefully, “and you Castalians, you all look so much alike. Excluding, of course, Colonel Yau,” the woman in question snorted at this, but Harper continued anyway. “It was much safer to tell Rommie to target the guy with the dish on his chest than to tell her to shoot at a guy with tubes sticking out of his fishneck. That’d have resulted in multiple victims, wouldn’t it?”

Chandos didn’t show much regret. Actually, he showed no regret at all. “It was a good plan, you must admit.”

Harper shrugged, disgust showing clearly on his mobile face. “You needed better music.”

“Ulysses Chandos, I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of President Lee,” Colonel Yau announced. After a short pause, she added mournfully. “I don't understand what made you do this. You were already gonna succeed him. Why now? You just had to wait a few more days…”

“…for his resignation,” Chandos finished for her. “You see, exactly that was the problem. Please... please stop the camera. I want to talk to Colonel Yau and Captain Hunt in private.”

“Oh no, you won’t,” Tyr growled angrily. “You’d have me executed publicly – you’re not going to hide _your_ skeletons in any cupboards.”

“I’d prefer to know the whole truth, myself,” Born to Starfire stated calmly. “If my government is going to sign the Commonwealth Charter, we need to know what possible motivations the other potential members might have.”

“Sinti IV must be informed about these events as well,” Höhne said. “About _all_ of the events, and their backgrounds. If we can’t trust each other, what good would do to sign the Charter in the first place?”

“I tend to agree,” Dylan said. “Let’s compromise. The press clears the deck, so does any non-essential personnel. But the representatives of the Than and Sinti IV stay. Agreed?”

“I won’t leave,” Tyr said. “This man tried to get me executed for a crime committed by himself. I have a right to know the truth.”

“All right,” Dylan sighed impatiently. “But everyone leaves. NOW.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They all waited while Castalians, low-ranking Than, Freya, Rekeeb and Farrendahl left, then Dylan turned to the newly elected President.

“We are listening.”

“You have to understand,” Chandos began. “ What I did, I did for Castalia.”

Yau shot him a murderous glare. One that would’ve made any Nietzschean Matriarch proud. Obviously, having been a slave of the Völsung _had_ rubbed off a little. “You're lying.“

Chandos shook his head in resignation. “I wish I would. Unfortunately, that’s the truth. You both know that Lee was going to resign after the charter ratification, but have you seen his resignation speech?”

“No,” Yau said. “Why should we? It was his business, not ours.”

“Well, I have,” Chandos said grimly. “He couldn't leave well-enough alone. His damn ego. He didn't want to just be a hero. He wanted to be a saint. But we both know there are no saints on the battlements, are there, Captain?”

“No,” Dylan said with something akin to regret in his voice, so that Beka started wondering about some of the missions he might have been ordered to go on during the heydays of the old Commonwealth. “Not really.”

“The Völsung Aerie Orbital Habitat did not explode by accident, did it?” Tyr asked softly.

“No,” Chandos replied. “Lee ordered its destruction. I know. I was there. We both agreed.”

“Agreed,” Tyr repeated with eerie calmness. “You both agreed to massacre seventy-five thousand non-combatant old people. And the women and children. What a truly Nietzschean attitude: never let your enemy escape when you can kill him. You could make me proud, after all.”

Chandos ignored him, directing his words to Dylan only. “I assume you know how it is with the supermen, Captain. You let them go, and they'll come back stronger than before. There are no non-combatant Nietzscheans. A three-year-old will disembowel a man.”

“Now you are exaggerating,” Dylan said.

“He’s not,” Tyr replied. “Not by much, that is. Combat training usually started at the age of six in Kodiak Pride. I assume the Völsung practice was similar.”

Nobody paid him any real attention. All the others were too deeply shocked to hear that his accusations _were_ justified, after all. Sebastian Lee _had_ been a legend, even beyond the borders of his own world. He had admirers among other races as well, for forging the Castalian Republic… since they had no idea about the method of said forging.

“What about the labourers?” Yau asked, almost tonelessly. Her face was a lifeless mask. She was clearly in shock. “The slaves?”

Chandos shrugged. Unlike Sebastian Lee, he never cared much for air-breathers… or for other Castalian minorities, for that matter. “Collateral damage. A small price to pay for freedom. Or so we thought.”

“I don't believe you,” Yau whispered. “You’re just trying to justify your crime.”

“Oh, the record's clear, Colonel,” Chandos replied with a grim smile. “Your hero, he had feet of clay... bloody clay, at that. But even worse, he had a conscience.”

“What’s wrong with having a conscience?” Rev Bem asked mildly. “Isn’t conscience the tool of the Divine to lead us on the right path?”

Chandos gave the Magog an openly disgusted look. “That might work for a monk. But if Lee had confessed, the air-breathers would have demanded blood vengeance.”

“Could you blame them?” Beka muttered under her breath. 

Harper shrugged. “I’d surely have done the same. What a self-righteous bastard. I swear you, Boss, this is almost worse than the Niets themselves.”

Chandos either didn’t hear them or chose not to pay any attention. “The water-breathers, they would've resisted, and we would've been faced with a civil war. I tried to talk him out of it. I told him he was putting too much trust in his people, but he... of course, he would not listen. He left me no choice. I had to save the republic.”

“By killing the man who created it,” Dylan said dryly. “Somehow, I’m not buying your arguments, Mr. President.”

“You must let me go,” Chandos argued. “We can find someone else to blame for Lee's murder, or leave it unsolved. But we can't let the truth come out. It will destroy us all. Castalia and your Commonwealth.”

“If you think I'll cooperate in a cover-up, you're mistaken,” Dylan said in disgust. “Colonel, your prisoner.”

After Colonel Yau had led the now ex-president of the Castalian Republic out of the Observations Deck, Dylan looked around.

“Any objections?”

Höhne was the first to answer. “While I basically agree with you, Captain Hunt, I must point out that you are taking a great risk. What if the Castalian parliament chooses not to ratify your Commonwealth Charter, after all?”

Dylan shrugged. “As Beka would say: there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”


	8. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan is forced to take a permanent Castalian delegation aboard and Tyr's pursuit has first results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The permanent Castalian representative aboard _Andromeda_ , Arkazha, is borrowed from the Original Trek novel _From the Depths_ by Victor Milan (page 81, to be accurate). I followed the physical characteristics given in that novel fairly closely, because they matched the needs of a sentient water-breather a lot better than what we were shown in the actual episode. Novels don’t underlie budget restrictions, thank God.
> 
> The original idea with the security codes belongs to Keith R. A. DeCandido, author of the _Andromeda_ novel _Destruction of Illusions_. I modified it quite a bit for this story, though.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 7 - Lost and Found**

It had been a long two days since former president Chandos – was arrested, and they had still no news from the planet below.

“Are you sure that we did the right thing, Dylan?” Beka asked; they were sitting in the officer’s mess, trying some of Tyr’s cooking. The Nietzschean had been in an uncharacteristically good mood lately, and cooked for the entire crew… well, with the exception of the Than, of course, whose culinary interests were rather… different from those of the humanoid crew. But the stir-fry and the fruit-filled pastries found general agreement among the humans and Perseids.

“Have you been following the news reports?” Dylan asked, around a mouthful of food, and Beka nodded grimly.

“Apparently, there are riots on some of the islands. The air-breathers are demanding retaliation. The water-breathers, of course, answer with counter-demonstrations… Castalia could be facing civil war.”

“I don’t think so,” Dylan said with a shake of his head. “It’ll probably blow over soon. But the people of Castalia needed to know the truth.”

Beka gave him a doubtful look. “I dunno… the whole thing with the Nietzscheans happened eighteen years ago. And they _were_ the invaders in the Castalian system. If there weren’t the fact that the slaves got killed, too…”

“Precisely,” Dylan nodded. “We couldn’t let Chandos – or Colonel Yau, for that matter – cover up a genocide. If the Commonwealth stands for anything, it stands for open process of the law. And if the institutions of Sebastian Lee can survive his death, they certainly can survive the truth about his life.”

“Says who?” Beka asked cynically. “You? I hate to break it to you, _Captain_ , but you’re not infallible. And I can understand Colonel Yau wanting to hide the truth about the man whom she loved like a father. The man whom she’d have died for. That he betrayed her people. Believe me, I know what it means being betrayed by one’s father.” She fell into silence, obviously reliving unpleasant memories.

“Sebastian Lee _was_ a great man,” Dylan said. “But he _did_ commit a horrible crime against his own people. And the people of Castalia should know that. Nothing is more important than the truth. A whole society can’t be based on a lie.”

“It worked well enough for eighteen years,” Beka replied dryly. But Dylan shook his head.

“They were sitting on a time bomb in all those years. The truth has an inherent tendency to come out – usually in the least passable moment. Besides, President Lee _wanted_ the truth to be known. He even died for it. We owed him to fulfil his last wish.”

Beka still wasn’t entirely convinced, but before she could have said anything, the small holographic image of Rommie popped up in the middle of their table.

“Captain, we have an incoming message from the Castalian Parliament,” the hologram said.

Dylan pushed away his almost empty plate and stood. “On my way. Beka, you with me?”

“Won’t miss it for all the Known Worlds,” Beka answered sarcastically and followed him out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When they reached the command deck, everyone else was already there, waiting with excitement for the news.

“Are they transmitting a visual?” Dylan asked Rev Bem, who happened to sit at the comm station, as always. The Magog seemed to have developed a keen interest for _Andromeda_ ’s comm system. It enabled him to more easily correspond with his fellow Wayists, after all.

“They do,” he answered to Dylan’s question.

“Well, put them on the screen, if you please,” Dylan said, a little impatiently. Rev Bem inclined his furry head in a respectful manner and touched a control with one long, curved claw.

The screen came alive, showing three Castalians seated in a room that could have been anything from a clerk’s office to the council chamber of the Parliament itself. It was mostly dark, except for a few dim lights shining on the representatives from the ceiling. They couldn’t see much of the room itself, just control panels and viewscreens on the walls. The three occupied a low dais, sitting at a computerised desk that probably also served as their comm device. At their backs a window opened on the night and a grey sea whipped to thrashing frenzy by a storm. Obviously, the room, whatever its purpose might have been, was situated on one of the islands scattered across Castalia’s oceans.

The three individuals onscreen, however, surprised the _Andromeda_ crew a great deal. Until now, they had assumed that Castalian population was fairly homogenous, at least where looks were considered. Not even between water-breathers and air-breathers did there seem to be such a big difference, save the breathing tubes on the ‘fish people’, as Harper called them. These representatives of the Castalian Parliament, however, appeared to belong to three entirely different species.

“Greetings, Captain Hunt,” said the man who was sitting in the middle. He looked more or less human – almost theatrically handsome, with dark skin, webbed hands, pronounced epicanthic folds to his large, ocean green eyes and short, springy black hair that was streaked with red and yellow stripes, like the scales of a lionfish. He wore a loose, russet jacket and trousers over a collarless black shirt, the wide neckline of which revealed a row of quills on each side of his neck. “I’m Iason Havila, spokesman of the Castalian Parliament in foreign affairs. This is Angus Thege, representing the Undersea Miners, and this is Rahyl Arkazha, representing the Deep-Sea Rangers.”

Thege was an air-breather, but obviously engineered for heavy labour – for strength and endurance. He was a hulking humanoid, covered in pliable grey armour like a Terran rhinoceros, but the glittering of his small, dark eyes revealed a keen intellect, despite his unproprotionally small head.

Arkazha, on the other hand, was clearly a water-breather – a squat being, hairless, with rubbery-looking black skin. A clear respirator mask covered the lower half of her broad face. A dark metal yoke enclosed her short neck and flowed down over the top of her heavy shoulders. It surrounded her with a constant iridescent shimmer of mist. She had webbed hands and feet, two vertical slits for a nose and no external ears, just holes in the sides of her head; both nose and ear orifices could be closed by special lids. Where the skin was close to bone, on knuckles and feet and under her square jaw, it showed yellow highlights.

She wore no clothes, except for some sort of harness holding small implements whose function Dylan didn’t recognize. She looked like some kind of amphibian, only vaguely humanoid… not at all alike the water-breathers that had visited the _Andromeda_. Either she was the result of more extensive genetic engineering, or that of some spontanteous mutation.

“I assume you’d be relieved to hear that the Parliament ratified the Commonwealth Charter with three votes to spare,” Iason Havila continued.

“That’s a relief, indeed,” Dylan answered.

“However, there is one condition,” Havila added. “We want a permanent representative of our world on that ship of yours, so that we can protect the interests of the republic in any given situation.”

Dylan nodded. “That’s acceptable. We’ve got representatives of various other worlds aboard already – and we certainly have enough room for passengers. Who’ll be your Commonwealth ambassador?”

“I will,” Arkazha said; her voice was deep and strongly accented. “And as my subspecies underlies more environmental restrictions than the majority of the Castalians, Iason will accompany me as my attaché.”

“I assume you’ll need specific conditions in your quarters,” Dylan said.

“We both will,” Iason answered. “I can go without a maritime environment perfectly well – for about twelve hours. After that, I’d start getting respiratory problems, bad skin conditions and the likes.”

“Wouldn’t it be more practical to assign the average water-breather to this job?” Dylan asked. “All they’d need is their breathing apparatus.”

“True,” Iason agreed, “but after the recent… revelations, most of the minorities are a little… wary of our main race. It was specifically requested that someone of the minor races get the assignment. And we couldn’t really trust air-breathers around Nietzscheans right now,” he added with an apologetic smile. “Tempers are running high among them at the moment.”

“I wonder why,” Tyr commented cynically. Dylan gave him a glare, but he Nietzschean simply shrugged, not really concerned about his displeasure.

“We accept your condition, of course,” the captain told the Castalians. “In fact, I welcome the presence of other Commonwealth members on board. Or that of potential members,” he added, glancing briefly at the Than and the Perseids present. “I’m sure Mr. Harper will be happy to provide you with the required environment.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Contrary to Dylan Hunt’s optimistic estimate, Harper was _not_ happy to have been assigned to the noble task of building the Castalian ambassador’s quarters. He was glad to go planetside again, for sure, but he had been hoping for shore leave, not for more work.

“Am I really asking so much?” he fumed, checking his list of required parts for the maritime quarters. “All I wanted was some leave, to find a bar, get drunk and get laid, for a change. I’ve been working around the clock for… well, forever. I really think I deserve a break. Does Dylan think I’m a freaking robot or what?” he added, stomping off angrily.

The four low-class Amber Than workers ignored his rantings with practiced ease. They’d been working with him since they’d come aboard, and were used to his rants by now. Like all other Than, these four, too, wore elaborate names like “Songs of Ocean, “Element of Air” and so on. Names that Harper was unable to remember, despite his otherwise excellent memory _and_ the highly individualistic traits of his Than co-workers. So he simply called them Brownie One, Brownie Two, Brownie Three and Brownie Four.

This practice irritated the Than at first – until he explained them what a brownie was and how much humans liked it. Especially the now-dead members of the Harper family. After that, the Than accepted the nicknames without further protest. Truth be told, they were rather fond of their highly talented and quite flamboyant human boss. And Harper valued them, too, despite the bug jokes he couldn’t resist making.

The two Perseids spent a great deal of time down in the machine shops as well, studying Commonwealth technology first hand, and Rekeeb could frequently be talked into helping with Harper’s personal projects, while the Than were doing the basic tasks. The younger Perseid appreciated working with someone of Harper’s abilities – his and Höhne’s talents were more of theoretical nature – and the two of them made an excellent team, even though Harper’s efforts to make Rekeeb as addicted to Sparky Cola as he was failed spectacularly.

As soon as Rekeeb heard that Harper would be sent planetside to check out the exact parameters for the ambassador’s quarters, he hurried down to the machine shop to take over coordination there. The Than had accepted him as Harper’s aide right after his first visit. They only competed against each other, but acknowledged other authorities readily enough, as they didn’t endanger their positions in Than society in general and in their local mating group in particular.

“Has Harper found a suitable room already?” Rekeeb asked Brownie #4, whose actual name was Crimson Shadow.

The Amber Than wiggled her antennae in acknowledgement. “One of the empty biomatter storerooms near Hydroponics. We’re about to seal the side doors and open a trap door on the ceiling, so that the fish-necks can plunge in from above, once the room is filled with seawater from the planet. Tank ships are just about to start from the surface.”

Rekeeb grinned. Spending most of their time in Harper’s company had definitely influenced the bugs’ speech patterns. He couldn’t remember having heard Than speaking so... colourfully, on all their settlements he had visited in Höhne’s company.

“Very well,” he said, “why don’t you show me the specifics? I’ve never worked with underwater equipment before – it’s going to be a fascinating experience, no doubt. Have the Castalians sent up the instruments that need to be built in already? And what about furniture?”

Entering the machine shop, Tyr rolled his eyes, hearing the unbroken chatter. As useful as Perseids could be when it came to technology and science, their constant babbling could drive a man mad, after a while. Not even the otherwise dignified Höhne was an exception from that rule.

“Where’s Harper?” he asked Brownie #3, known among her fellow bugs under the quite poetic name of Sunset Upon Blue Hills.

“Machine Shop 2,” the Than replied curtly. Of all the bugs, she was the one who could stand Nietzscheans the least, having lost several family members to Orca attacks. She didn’t even bother to be remotely polite.

Which was fine with Tyr, who didn’t feel the urge to make friends with the Worker bugs. Plus, it spared him the effort to thank her – not that he’d have intended to do so anyway.

He walked over to Machine Shop 2, where he found Harper still ranting about not getting any shore leave. In a way he could understand it; the boy worked harder than anyone else aboard, with the weakest physical condition. If Dylan was unable to realize that his only engineer needed some recreation time, at least Beka could have reminded him. Harper was supposed to be _her_ crew in the first place; they’d worked together for five years!

 _Humans_ , Tyr thought in disgust, _they’re not even capable of managing their resources properly_.

But this wasn’t really his concern, not as long as Harper was able to run the ship at peak efficiency. So he turned his attention to the more urgent task at hand.

“I heard you’re going planetside,” he said without a preamble. Harper, not having heard his approach – which was unusual, as he had a sixth sense to feel the approach of any Nietzschean (or Magog, for that matter) and probably showed the degree of his exhaustion – practically jumped in the air.

“Geez, Tyr, trying to give me a heart attack here? Can’t you warn a guy before you sneak up to him or whatnot?”

“That would make the sneaking up part rather pointless,” Tyr said reasonably. “You haven’t answered my question, boy.”

“And you’re gonna stand here and glare me until I do, aren’t you?” Harper sighed. “Yep, I’m gonna down, checking their databases, so that I can buy them a proper fish tank. Which concerns you – how exactly?”

“It does not,” Tyr replied. “But I need you to do me a favour when you are down there, doing that. I need some… confidential data from their archives.”

Harper shot him a dirty look. “Lemme set this straight: You want me to hack into restricted databases and steal information for you? Do I see it correctly?”

“You do,” Tyr was completely unfazed, as always.

“Uh-huh. And what’s in for me – assuming, I’m willing to do it, which is by no means certain right now?”

“My continuing gratitude,” Tyr grinned. “I heard it has its advantages.” Harper snorted.

“Yeah, if I needed someone to be assassinated – which I don’t, not really, unless you are willing to kill Gerentex for me. No offence, Tyr, but you can shove your gratitude where the sun never shines. The only good you could do for me would be to beat out of Old Ratface the eighty-four thousand thrones he still owes me for the _Andromeda_ rescue operation, and we both know how likely _that_ is to happen, now don’t we?”

Harper’s rant gave Tyr an interesting insight into the boy’s personal problems, which he never considered before. Why should have? Now he realized that they gave him certain advantages.

“If money’s all it takes to make you get me the data I need, I can pay you,” he said. “Within reasonable margins, that is.”

“Define ‘reasonable’,” Harper countered, a little surprised that the Nietzschean would be actually willing to pay him for the job, instead of trying to intimidate him into doing it. Not that it would work… well, not at once…

“Name your price, and I’ll tell you if I can afford it,” Tyr replied; he wasn’t about to reveal the true magnitude of his financial sources, but he boy was right. This was a job nobody else would be able – or willing – to do; he deserved at least _some_ payment. Besides, he liked it that Harper wasn’t _that_ easy.

Harper thought about it for a moment (Tyr could almost see the little cogwheels whirling around in that clever head of his). Finally, he named the sum – one just slightly over his usual price for hacking jobs. There was some risk involved, after all. It was only proper.

Tyr nodded. The price was a reasonable one. “We have a deal. Give me your account number, and I’ll have the money transferred as soon as I have the data.”

“Okay,” Harper said, momentarily delighted by the thought of having some money to spend, soon. “So, what’s it exactly that you want?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Up to the moment when he first set foot on Castalia, Harper had thought that the Nietzscheans of Völsung Pride had only chosen to live on a habitat in geosynchronous orbit above the planet for tactical reasons. Now that he stepped out of the _Andromeda_ ’s landing pod, he saw that it had to have something to do with the famous Nietzschean self-preservation as well.

The planet was hot and humid like Hell. The primary star of the system was a yellow-white sun, its mass ninety-two per cent of that of Earth’s sun, with a comparative luminosity of 9.80 and a surface temperature of 7500 degrees Celsius.

At least that was what Rommie had told him before he left for Castalia. Experiencing it on his own skin felt a lot worse. He glanced down from the relatively high setting of the landing place to the stormy green sea, above which the sky hung like a grey blanket, slashed to pieces in irregular intervals. Painfully bright blue shone through those rents; he shuddered. Nah, this was definitely _not_ the sort of sea where he’d like to go surfing.

Which explained the Niets’ decision to stay away from the planet surface, save the occasional slave-gathering sweep. As much as Niets preferred to live on planets to living in space, where the radiation might have damaged their precious genes, this planet was definitely worse. Which also explained the great deal of genetic engineering the various Castalian subspecies had invested into themselves.

Someone called him by name, and Harper turned in surprise, seeing Iason Havila approaching him. The Castalian was depressingly large in the flesh – Harper hated it when people towered over him – although not quite as huge as Tyr. Of course, few people were as huge as Tyr, even among _Über_ s. Harper eyed the brightly coloured dashiki the other man wrote today enviously, guessing if he could somehow get his hands on one of those… it met his taste in colour exactly.

“I came to show you the local data archives,” Havila continued in a surprisingly friendly manner, considering that it came from a water-breather, whom Harper had thought were all arrogant bastards. “Akyula is one of the largest islands on Castalia, the main settlement of the air-breathers, which is why the main inland archives are situated here.”

“How big is it?” Harper asked, suddenly curious. Havila thought for a moment, looking for a suitable comparison.

“You’re from Earth, aren’t you?” at Harper’s nod, he grinned. “Well, think about Greenland – same size, just with a hot climate. There aren’t any bigger landmasses here. Of course, our underwater archives would be much more detailed than this one, but…” he shrugged apologetically.

“Can you create an interface for me?” Harper asked, tapping with one fingertip at his dataport. “If you can connect this archive with one of the bigger underwater ones… well, I do have my way with computers.”

Havila grinned again. “I can see the advantage of _that_. All right, I think I can arrange it for you – but you’ll have to hurry up. Weather forecast foresees a rather violent storm within two local hours. These storms are electrically charged, and big lightning discharges tend to interfere with oversea computer systems.”

Harper glanced up worriedly at the sky, which was now clear overhead, though cumulus balls rolled along the western horizon like white tumbleweeds. “Two local hours, huh? I wouldn’t like to have my neural net fried.”

“Two hours _tops_ ," Havila emphasized. “But if I were you, I won’t stay in cyberspace longer than one hour. These storm cells can move with unexpected speed and change directions rather abruptly. The weather conditions were the main reason why our ancestors decided to undergo genetic modifications.”

“I thought it was the lack of land to settle,” Harper said, and Havila grinned again.

“That, too. Well, come with me, I’ll show you around,” he herded the younger man towards a low, domed building some two hundred meters from the landing area. “You shouldn’t spend too much time in the direct sunlight anyway. The UV-output of our primary star is relatively high, even for someone who grew up on a planet with a ruined ozone layer.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The domed building housed nothing else but a large, circular room with floor-to-ceiling control boards and large viewscreens around the inner walls. It could be entered through a surprising number of different doors, as it was for public use, Havila said. Few people were working in it at the moment; all of them air-breathers from the same subspecies to which Colonel Yau belonged. Their pale skin revealed the fact that they had been born in space (most likely as the offspring of Völsung slaves) and kept out of the harsh sunlight of their home planet all their lives.

Havila talked to the one in charge in a low voice for a while, then he gave his security code into one of the terminals, and in a few minutes the connection with one of the underwater archives had been established. The spokesman gestured to Harper.

“You can access anything you want from this terminal – even further archives. Look out for the firewalls protecting confidential information, though. They could cause serious damage to your neural net if you happen to stumble across them by accident. I’ll return within the hour to escort you back to your landing pod.”

Harper nodded and jacked in, wincing a little at the sudden – and rather violent – pull into cyberspace. _Shit, rough ride; these fish-necks really oughtta do something about their computer systems._ The thinly veiled threat – or probably well-meant warning, it was hard to tell – of the Castalian made him unexpectedly angry. There had been very few security systems he couldn’t outsmart to begin with, and having spent a considerable amount in Rommie’s mind had trained his reflexes and tracing abilities to peak efficiency.

 _We’ll see it, fish-neck_ , he thought angrily. _You think you can scare the Harper into behaving himself? Well, think again!_

Iason Havila shot the young man, slumped against the console like a rag doll, an uneasy look. This wasn’t the first time he saw someone interface with a computer, but he could never get used to the sight. It was somehow… creepy.

“Alert me, when he’s done… or if something goes wrong,” he ordered the technicians on the archive and left. He needed to return to the sea. At once. A nice, long swim might calm him down. He shuddered in advance when he thought of the long time he would have to spend on a ship, with only a small basin at his disposal. But he couldn’t leave Arkazha alone. She needed someone who could spend at least half his day out of water.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Harper, on the other hand, was in his element. Well, in one of his elements anyway. His body safely protected in the central archive of Akyula, his avatar wandered the VR landscape of another archive, deep under the surface of the Castalian ocean. Cruising the information highway, on the surface he searched for available data about environmental requirements for Castalian water-breathers, catalogued for the various subspecies and downloading them into one of the miniature data discs inserted into his dataport.

Under the surface, however, he managed to gain access to confidential databases through a series of back doors that only someone with his abilities could have navigated without getting caught.

The most critical part of the whole operation was to implement a series of encryption codes that would allow him to hack into the computer network that controlled the security around the hidden data. Harper had already harvested a wide collection of codes, due to his earlier connection with the Castalian systems, but he couldn’t be exactly sure which ones to use and how – at least without the fish-necks noticing that someone was tampering with their security system.

That was, of course, where the patented Harper genius came in. In computers designed by people with no imagination – like Nietzscheans, for example, or three-hundred-years-dead High Guard programmers – the VR landscape looked like little more than walls of circuitry. The Castalian designers, however, had given _this_ landscape some personality: it looked like deep sea, with underwater streams playing around coral riffs and rocks to indicate different sections of the mainframe, multicoloured fish swimming along the invisible pathways and music playing in the background.

Unfortunately, it was the same ‘fish music’ the Castalians had tortured them with aboard the _Andromeda_ during the negotiations. Although in this virtual undersea environment it didn’t sound quite so bad as before, even though Harper would never admit it. Not in a thousand years.

Of course, this imaginary landscape made it a little more complicated for him to find the areas he needed to rewrite or disable. But he didn’t worry too much – as long as he managed to find the right codes and used them on the right spots, no one would discover his presence. The computer would think he was an authorized user, because only authorized users would have the codes. Still, it required a great deal of improvisation and damn good reflexes, but Harper always worked best when facing a challenge.

He only hoped that the codes would be the right ones. He had acquired them more or less as an added bonus when he first gained remote access to a public Castalian database via Rommie at the very beginning of the negotiations. Finding those codes actually happened by accident, thanks to a system glitch – he committed them to his dataport, simply out of curiosity. He hadn’t really intended to use them, until Tyr approached him with the offer.

 _He knows whom to ask when a genius is needed_ , the engineer grinned mentally, as he shut down the security to the database containing history files from twenty to ten years ago. If there was anything to find about the Völsung, the data would be there.

But after that, he hit another firewall. They had come up more and more often as he poked around in confidential databases, but once again, Harper was ready with a code. The codes were six characters made up of letters from the old Earth Greek alphabet, something Harper hadn’t seen on anything since leaving his homeworld behind (and even back home only above the front door of _Costas’ Cantina_ , a long-abandoned tavern in one of Boston’s suburbs). Additionally, they each added up to a different prime number, which was the same prime number that had been assigned to a particular subsection of the programming.

That was all good and nice – the problem only occurred when Harper had to realize with a mild shock that he had two different codes, both of which added up to the same prime number.

 _Crap_ , he thought, his mind racing, _that’s not good, not good at all_!

He found himself with three different options. Either the fish-necks had two codes for the same archive branch (which was rather unlikely), and it didn’t matter which one he used. Or the code had been changed in the recent weeks, which meant that one of the codes would be out of date, and if he used the wrong one, he’d be caught immediately. He didn’t even like to think what sort of punishment there would be for espionage.

_Could Tyr pay me enough to make it worth the risk at all?_

Or else one of the codes was a totally false one, for the exact reason to create the problem he was facing now. In any case, he had very little time to make the right choice - or to give up the whole thing, lose a modest amount of money that he desperately needed, _and_ prove himself an incompetent klutz in the eyes of an overbearing, arrogant Nietzschean who frequently treated him like a lower life form. Which was absolutely out of question. This was a matter of pride, after all.

He took a mental look at the codes again. One of them, EHITTS, appeared strangely familiar. After a moment, he also realized why. It was an anagram for Thetis, the goddess of the seas.

 _Could it be that easy?_ he wondered, not quite believing it.

Of course, most people wouldn’t even know that the letters corresponded to a practically unknown alphabet, and even fewer would know what those letters actually meant. Not even the majority of humans were familiar with old Terran writings – one had to bee a mudfoot from Earth itself to recognize them in the first place.

_Or a very sentimental Castalian programmer, with an interest for old legends, who was clever enough to realize the advantages of an easy code, which would still be unbreakable for outsiders. Unless they are called Seamus Zelazny Harper._

Harper had about three-and-a-half seconds to make a decision, before the alarm set off. He decided to take the risk and entered the code.

He got immediate access.

“Yes! Meet Seamus Zelazny Harper, super genius!” he crowed and hurriedly downloaded the history files, hoping that the disk space would be sufficient. He really, _really_ didn’t want to store the files of the entire Castalian War directly in his brain, thank you very much. He had several lifetimes worth of nightmares concerning Nietzschean cruelty from the time back on Earth.

And once again, he was lucky. Data safely stored in the mini-disc, he withdrew from the archive with mild regret (he’d have loved to see more about maritime life, had he had the time for it), looking directly in the worried green eyes of Iason Havila.

“I’m glad you came out on your own,” the Castalian spokesman said. “Bringing someone out is always risky business, but it wouldn’t have been safe for you to remain connected any longer. The storm cell has turned and picked up speed.”

Harper shuddered from the thought of being connected to the system while an electric storm hit. “I whole-heartedly agree. Your VR landscape is fascinating, but not worth of becoming fast-fried. Can I get away before the storm reaches Akyula?”

“When you start _now_ , then yes,” Havila answered.

“In that case, uh, I think I’d best go now. Thanks for the help and everything,” and with that, Harper jogged away towards the landing area, as quickly as it was doable on a place as hot as Castalia.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Getting back to the _Andromeda_ , Harper checked in with his voluntary engineering team, and he found Brownies #1 through 4 checking the freshly sealed ambassadorial ‘fish tank’ with the customary thoroughness their race displayed toward every task assigned to them. They had inserted a floor to ceiling window instead of the slide doors, and were now looking for possible leaks before filling the whole area with water.

Rekeeb was still down in the machine shops, with a tiny portion of his mind occupied with the organization of the work, while the great majority of it happily absorbed in familiarizing himself with waterproof Castalian equipment. Harper decided that his immediate presence wasn’t required at the moment, so he gave the specifics to Rekeeb and declared that he’d take a much-deserved break.

In truth, however, he was heading towards Tyr’s quarters to finish the business transaction with their resident Über. It was the first time ever that he’d enter the lion’s den, and the simple but very comfortable furnishing, plus the domestic scene of Tyr and Freya cuddling on the living room’s couch seemed a little… weird to him. He didn’t know what he’d expected – wall hangings featuring martial scenes, or weapons displayed everywhere, perhaps, but not this Spartan elegance, for sure.

“Did you get it?” Tyr never wasted time with small talk.

“’Hello Harper! What was your trip to Castalia like? Hope you didn’t get caught, either by security or by one of those monster electric storms that could have fried your dataport and your brain right with it,’” Harper rolled his eyes. “Oh, why the heck do I even try? What I got for you are all confidential history files for the last twenty years, on a data clip. You’ll have to sort through them and see for yourself if there’s anything you can use. I expect to be paid anyway, just so that you realize that.”

“Why should I pay you if there’s nothing useful in the data?” Tyr raised an eyebrow.

“Because I guaranteed you the _files_ , not their usefulness,” Harper pointed out, “and because otherwise I’d have a nice little chat with our esteemed captain. I don’t think you’d like to leave the _Andromeda_ just now.”

“Neither would you,” Tyr said. “And Dylan wouldn’t be delighted to learn that you’ve been spying around in the secret files of his most important allies.”

“Maybe not,” Harper shrugged, “but he couldn’t afford to fire _me_ , not right now anyway. I’m the only competent engineer aboard. Any warrior bug could replace _you_.”

To his surprise, Tyr broke out in a sudden grin. “I doubt that, but I must admit, I like the way you negotiate, boy. Very well, you get your money. Now give me the data chip.”

Harper shook his head. “Nah. First the transaction. The Niet I’d be foolish enough to trust has yet to be born.”

Tyr laughed. Who’d have thought that Harper had such… spunk? He walked to the computer terminal and sent the necessary message to his bank on Haukin Tau Drift, which still was registered as his permanent dwelling place, at least theoretically. All the time, he felt the watchful eyes of the young human on himself, as if Harper expected to be cheated. Maybe he did; the boy truly had no reason to trust anyone, with the possible exception of Beka.

“It’ll take some time until the money gets transferred,” Tyr said, “but it’s the only way. Now, can I have that data clip?”

Harper shrugged – he seemed to do that around Tyr a lot - and extracted the mini-disc from his dataport. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he sat down on the only available chair, from where he could have undisturbed view at the computer screen.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Put in the chip already!

Tyr raised an eyebrow again. “I can’t remember inviting you to stay and watch.”

“That’s because you haven’t,” Harper replied blithely. “But I would like to see if the results were worth risking to fry my brain just the same.”

“Why would it be of any importance for you whether we find the Völsung survivors or not?” Freya asked in surprise.

“It’s not,” Harper said with a shrug. “But _if_ some of them managed to escape, that would mean that maybe, just maybe, someone of _my_ family could be still alive back on Earth, too.”

“So, you’re looking for a miracle?” Freya asked.

Harper shook his head, suddenly very serious. “Nah. Miracles don’t happen, not to people like me anyway. I’m looking for _hope_.”

That silenced the Nietzscheans for a while. Then Tyr shrugged.

“As you wish. Whatever there is, it’s not _my_ secret.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They searched the files for almost two hours, listing up every single Nietzschean name that got mentioned, for whatever reason. Some of them Tyr was even familiar with, like that of the Völsung Matriarch, to whom he was actually – if very indirectly – related. But they couldn’t find any trace of Pride members who might have survived the destruction of their home, although some families of lesser rank were mentioned to have lived and worked outside the Castalian system.

“This is not much,” Freya said pessimistically. “Although we can do a thorough search for all those names on the list, I guess. Maybe they will show up in the records of drifts or ports or the like.”

At the same moment, Harper unexpectedly stopped the playback.

“Look,” he said, pointing at a record about someone called Dr. Kaveh Hamayouni, out of Parendi by Tahamtan. The Niet was apparently a physician, more accurately a surgeon and genetic researcher. Or at least he had been eighteen years prior, when he had been the only Nietzschean who got invited to some big medical conference.

“What about him?” Freya asked with a frown. 

Tyr shook his head. “The name doesn’t ring a bell for me. Do you know the man, Harper?”

“Not me,” Harper said, “and I’m not sure it’s the same person, but I could swear I heard Höhne mentioning a Niet contact of his. Guy was supposed to be a doctor somewhere on some drift. You tell me, how likely it is for two _Über_ s to have the same name _and_ the same job at the same time?”

“Zero to nothing,” Tyr agreed. “Where is this… person supposed to live?”

“Can’t remember,” Harper admitted. “You’ll have to ask Höhne. He’s the man… hermaphrodite… whatever… with the contact.”

“And he would share this piece of information with me – why exactly?” Tyr snorted. Contacts on different worlds and drifts were important. One didn’t give them away without a _very_ good reason.

Harper shrugged again. “I dunno. You’ll have to offer him something in exchange, I guess.” He stood. “Well, it was nice to chat with you, but if you’d excuse me now… I have a fish tank to finish.”

He sauntered out of the cabin. The two Nietzscheans looked after him for a while – then at each other.

“It’s a beginning,” Freya said softly. “The question is: do you have anything to offer the Perseid?”

“I’m not sure,” Tyr said, “but we’ll find out.”


	9. Bloodlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr finds a possible contact person to the Völsung survivors and is sought out by a very powerful potential ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular story takes place during the 1st Season episode _The Pearls That Were His Eyes_. Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 8 - Bloodlines**

There was unusual tension on the command deck of the _Andromeda Ascendant_ – mostly because of the bombastic military music that had been played for the last two days. Sitting in the slipstream chair, Beka Valentine tried to distract herself with reading one of her favourite gothic novels on a flimsy, but she found herself unable to concentrate. That goddamn… noise was driving her crazy.

What was it with military organizations and bad music anyway? She began to think that Harper had been right – having Tyr playing Wagner in the officers’ mess was definitely better than this. She glanced over to Harper, who was armpits-deep in the electronic insides of some bridge system. The engineer had an annoyingly cheerful expression on his face, which surprised Beka, knowing that military marches weren’t Harper’s idea of a good time, either.

Of course, one could discover the source of the cheerfulness, as soon as one took a closer look and discovered that the small, round white things in Harper’s ears were actually miniature earphones, providing him with the music of his choice. Beka made a mental note to ask him for a set as soon as they got a private moment.

The Than had fled the command deck after the first couple of hours, and Glittering Starlight steadfastedly refused to return until the ‘hammering’, as she called it, stopped. The vibrations caused a tingling pain in her antennae, she explained. But Beka suspected that the sneaky bugs simply _disliked_ the music, like everyone else, with the possible exception of Trance, who simply didn’t care, and was working on her console, seemingly unbothered. Plus, the Than had the advantage of _not_ being officially part of the crew, so they could simply stay away from the command deck.

At the moment, Beka desperately wished a similar chance. Why Rommie insisted to inflict this horror upon them all, nobody could understand. But asking the avatar, who was standing next to the command chair in the rigid manner of a drill sergeant, somehow didn’t seem a good idea. They had tried it a couple of times during the last two days, but the only answer they got was a flippant recitation of High Guard regulations.

Beka glanced over to Rev Bem at the science station, wondering how the sensitive hearing of the Magog endured the torture, and saw that Rev was calmly meditating, refusing to acknowledge the noise. Wayists were definitely peculiar people. So were Nietzscheans, obviously, as Tyr – absorbed in his workstation with a single-mindedness he usually only showed in battle – seemed completely oblivious, too. He didn’t even twitch when Dylan sauntered onto the bridge, and Rommie whipped around in the best spit-polished manner and announced his arrival crisply.

“Captain on deck!”

Trance, snapping to attention, produced a perfect High Guard-style salute. The fact that she was grinning from ear to ear ruined the effect a little, though. Beka looked up from her reading, bored and annoyed.

“I'll alert the media. As soon as Rommie quits playing this godawful noise.”

“It’s protocol, you know,” Trance explained, still saluting. “Like standing at pretension whenever the captain enters the command deck.”

“If I cared for protocol, I’d be swimming with our resident fish-necks in their aquarium,” Beka riposted. “When we signed up, we agreed that none of these ridiculous… gymnastics would be demanded from us. So what the heck is going on?”

“I'm sorry, Beka,” the computer image of Rommie appeared on the screen. “Some of my systems have reverted to defaults. All my avatars are currently following basic High Guard protocols.”

“Well, I’m sure our fix-it-all man is going to do something about it… and soon,” Dylan said, giving Harper a pointed look.

“Excuse me,” the engineer was clearly offended. “After the number of scrapes she's been through, it's a wonder she's a-workin' at all.”

“I thought you were a genius,” Beka teased.

Harper whirled around in annoyance. “I am! And after the hundreds of times in which I’ve patched the _Maru_ together with the help of paper clips and glue, _you_ of all people should know that. But not even I can produce a miracle without spare parts.”

“Don't worry, Rommie,” Dylan said, ignoring the engineer’s tirade. “As soon as we dock at El Dorado Drift, we'll pick up parts and you'll be as good as new.”

“What the man said,” Harper commented, and his eyes started sparkling from the mere thought of the Drift. “El D. She's got everything we need. Wine, wiring and _women_.”

The others laughed, while watching the slow approach of the Drift on the main viewers. It was a fairly large construction that had been built of independent modules and extended on both ends during its existence, until it almost reached a length of five miles. A true city, floating in space. It was also one of the few outposts of civilization and high technology in the Orion Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy, so it was highly sought after for its supply facilities. The fact that it was owned by the Free Trade Alliance explained how the inhabitants managed to offer about just everything a starship might need. It was considered a paradise by all space travellers, despite the often outrageous prices.

“All I care about is news, weather and sports,” Beka declared and got up from her chair, relieved that Rommie had finally killed the ‘music’. “And that should be comin' in right about... now.”

Right on cue, dozens of news reports in Vedran text, pictures and voices flooded the various viewscreens of the command deck. Beka pumped a fist into the air triumphantly. “Yes! Civilization.”

“And mail call!” Trance added, grinning like a fool. Harper rolled his eyes.

“It's already here, courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood space traveller's aid.” He looked at Trance in mild exasperation. “I don't know why you're so excited, it's always just bills for Beka, or epistles from Rev Bem's spiritual pen pals. All you and I ever get is junk.”

There was infinite sadness in his usually cheerful voice, but in the overall excitement about finally getting some news nobody noticed it. The merging of Trans-Galactic Shipping with Quantum Express – two of the largest private cargo carriers in the sector - upset Beka very much, and she did her best to explain their clueless captain the possible consequences.

“Their consolidation would force small operators out of business by red-lining business and undercutting costs,” she scowled. “How is a little guy supposed to compete against someone like Sam Profit?”

“Who is…?” Dylan trailed off.

“Trans-Galactic's _über_ big kahuna,” Harper supplied helpfully. “Put him in a fish tank with piranhas... pray for the piranhas.”

“I'm sure that's all very interesting,” Tyr was still glaring at his screen, trying to remember who the man sending him a coded message could be. He was certain he’d heard that name before - he just couldn’t remember where. “But may we discuss the weather?”

“I didn't know you liked the weather,” Trance scurried over to Tyr's workstation and launched into a lengthy – and rather incoherent – explanation about cumulus clouds, until Tyr silenced her with an impatient gesture.

“The only time the weather concerns me is when it threatens my health and well-being,” the Nietzschean growled. “Today, for instance.”

He called up a news report on the main screen. It showed a storm in space - a rather nasty-looking one, with blue and white lightning.

“A class-seven solar storm,” he explained. “And it's headed right for us. According to weather forecast, it’ll hit in five days.”

“Looks like we better make those repairs quick,” Dylan said, giving Harper another pointed look. The little engineer made a long-suffering face – it looked positively adorable, like that of a kicked puppy.

“I know, I know! More work for me,” he sighed. “You know, guys, I’m fortunate to have those worker bugs down in the machine shops. Even though they have ridiculous names no one could remember. It’s not always fun being the only engineer on a ship of this size. At least the Than are very proficient in doing basic repairs – and have more personal motivation than the droids.”

“Speaking of which,” Tyr stepped away from his workstation; “I have to discuss some security measures with the Emerald Than. I assume you won’t need me here for the next hour or so.”

Without waiting for Dylan’s answer, he strode out. Nobody saw the data clip that he shoved under one of his bracers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
His tactical discussion with the Emerald Than didn’t take more than ten minutes. Sword of Midnight was a very intelligent bug, with the same fondness for big, dangerous weapons as Tyr himself, and meanwhile practically functioned as the Nietzschean’s aide, unlikely as it would have seemed a month or so earlier. That made working with the other bugs a lot easier – as soon as Tyr and Sword of Midnight worked out a solution, she would take over the task to make her fellow bugs follow the plan.

After their meeting, Tyr returned to his quarters to check on Freya, who had developed some unpleasant side effects of her pregnancy. Nietzschean women didn’t suffer from morning sickness the same way mere humans did, but an upset stomach wasn’t a rare thing among them while expecting. That, and irregular bouts of insomnia caused Freya to feel irritatingly weak, so she preferred to remain in their quarters most of the day.

This time, however, Tyr found her in a relatively good shape – in a better one, in fact, than he had left her when taking over bridge duty. Which was a relief, as Freya tended to become irritated very easily, and her temper could turn quite foul at times.

“Does the name Ezekial El-Hakim ring a bell?” he asked. “He sent me a coded message. I know I’ve heard that name before, but…”

Freya smiled. “Of course you have. He’s the father of Deborah, Guderian’s First Wife. He’s also…”

“… the Pride Alpha of the Centauris A colony,” Tyr finished. “What would he want from me?”

Freya shrugged. “You did him a great favour. You have an alliance with the husband of his daughter. Perhaps he wants an alliance with you as well.”

“Why would he?” Tyr asked doubtfully. “He’s the Alpha of the most numerous cadet branch of Sabra Pride. He has a whole _planet_ under his rule!”

“And you have the _Andromeda_ at your disposal,” Freya pointed out, “even if it means to argue with Dylan before every action.”

“Do you think he’d be willing to marry off a daughter to me?” Tyr asked in a calculating tone.

“That’s not impossible,” Freya replied. “He needs allies against his own Pride leader. Tamerlane Mossadim is a ruthless person, who wouldn’t hesitate to turn against his own people if it served his interests. And Ezekial does have several unwed daughters. I think you should watch his message – that’s the easiest way to learn what he wants.”

That was certainly true, and Tyr fed the data clip into the computer. The message was coded, so all they saw first was an undefined blur of noises and colours. But it was a Sabran coding that Freya happened to know – Deborah used it occasionally – so it didn’t take them long to clear the message.

The dark-skinned, middle-aged man from whom the message originated seemed huge, even on the computer screen. He had a broad, handsome face and short-cropped, greying hair. His small, dark eyes were intense, their look piercing.

“Greetings, Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa,” he said in a deep, slightly rough voice. “I’m Ezekial El-Hakim, out of Abigail by Leonidas. I’m in your debt for warning us of the homicidal _kludge_ children, and I am a man who pays his debts,” he flashed a quick, wolfish grin. “Especially when doing so serves my own interests.”

Tyr grinned, too. The last remark, more than anything else, proved that the Sabran Alpha was honest… well, as Nietzscheans understood honesty, anyway. _And_ he was using the formal mode, the one for contract negotiations, challenges of war or declarations of personal intent.

“So I offer you two things that might be useful for both of us,” the older man continued; “an alliance and some information. One of my daughters, Mikaelan, expressed interest in you. You’ll find a vid attached to the end of this message, together with a verification of her DNA and bloodline. As for the information… there are rumours that Mossadim seeks peace with Jaguar Pride. As much as such a peace treaty would serve Nietzschean interests, I seriously doubt that his intentions are honourable. Mossadim has no allies – just enemies and servants. But I assume you can take care of yourself.”

El-Hakim paused again, his expression thoughtful.

“You do have a reputation, Anasazi, and so do I. An alliance between us would be mutually beneficial. But never think for a moment that you’d be able to use me – I’m not some dumb Drago-Kazov Beta. I await your answer at your convenience.”

With that, the message abruptly ended. Tyr looked at his wife thoughtfully. “What do you think?”

“Do I have a say in this?” Freya asked.

“You are my Matriarch,” Tyr said with a shrug. “Whatever concerns Kodiak Pride, concerns you. And I could use your insight; you know the El-Hakims, while I do not.”

“Very well,” Freya said. “I never met Mikaelan, but I do know that she and Deborah have the same mother. That’s an excellent bloodline. And if she’s anything like Deborah, she must be a formidable woman.”

“And you won’t mind competing with her?” Tyr asked. There was no hint of teasing in his voice. He meant the question seriously. As much as he’d have liked an alliance with the powerful Sabran branch, he wouldn’t risk antagonizing Freya – his only true ally at the moment.

Freya raised an eyebrow. “I _am_ the Matriarch, am I not?”

“Of course you are.”

“Then as long as you remember that _and_ make all your future wives understand, I don’t have a problem with this alliance. Let’s take a look at the potential bride, shall we?”

Tyr agreed with the suggestion and opened the attachment. The vid showed a younger, slightly softer version of Deborah, but Mikaelan was tall, strong and well-built nevertheless, her features hinting of intelligence and stubbornness. The bloodline and the fertility- and DNA-certificates looked promising, too. Of course, they’d need a fresh sample to verify the data – there was always a chance that they would be fooled – but the match seemed a good one indeed.

“Looks good,” Freya commented. “You should accept the offer. An alliance with Centauris A would strengthen your position.”

“I’m inclined to do so,” Tyr said, “but first, I need to find the Völsung – if there indeed _are_ any survivors. I’m still not entirely certain that we are looking for the right person.”

“Well, we’re docking at El Dorado Drift,” Freya reminded him. “All you need is to go down and find this Dr. Hamayouni. Verifying his identity won’t be that hard.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When a few minutes later Tyr returned to the command deck, to his surprise, both Beka and Trance were gone. So was Rev Bem, and Dylan looked positively... agitated.

“Beka got a three-year-old distress call from an old pal of her Daddy and is off to help him,” Harper summarized the events that had happened during his brief absence. “And Trance has apparently gone AWOL to keep an eye on her.”

Tyr shrugged. “So?”

“So now I'm worried,” Dylan explained, a little irritated, waving vaguely with Trance’s good-bye message.

“Why?” Harper asked, obviously not seeing the problem “They're both big girls. They can take care of themselves. Besides, we have _plenty_ to worry about right here.”

He was interrupted by Rev Bem, returning from wherever he’d been. The Magog bowed towards Dylan in his customary dignified manner. Harper cleared his throat impatiently, waving with a long list of sorely needed spare parts.

“I say we prioritize the picotransducers, nanothrusters, and uh an AP solenoid valve,” he suggested.

Tyr frowned. “We can agree on the thrusters and the valve,” he decided. “But by the rate we keep making new enemies, we’d also need photon bombs, and we need to refit our pulse plasma guns and point defence lasers.”

“Isn't this a lot of wishful thinking?” Rev Bem asked soberly. “How are we going to pay for all of this?”

All eyes turned to Dylan expectantly. Even those of the Perseids, who’d just walked in, in the middle of an excited conversation of their own. The captain chose a… diplomatic evasion.

“Technically, that would be the quartermaster's job,” he said.

“We don't _have_ a quartermaster,” Tyr pointed out bluntly, and Dylan suppressed a sigh. So much about a diplomatic approach.

“If I may,” Höhne intervened smoothly, before a fight could have broken out between the two men. “Are you saying you don't have the money needed to pay for the necessary spare parts?”

“Oh we have plenty of currency,” Dylan replied; then, with a self-mocking little laugh, he added, “it's just that none of it's... current, you know.”

That caused a somewhat… baffled silence among the crew. As always, Harper was the first to recover and come up with a suggestion.

“Okay,” he said brightly, “I can get most of this stuff, but we'll have to rig for a fast getaway.”

That seemed to make Rev Bem more than a little uncomfortable. “Harper…”

“… we're not going to steal anything,” Dylan finished for him sternly.

The Magog inclined his head. “Thank you.”

Dylan returned the gesture. Tyr, however, had been watching their exchange of mutual admiration with disgust. This didn’t lead anywhere, and the solar storm was dangerously close to hitting them. If they didn’t get the spare parts, make the repairs and get the hell out of there, they’d risk serious radiation damage. He was _not_ about to allow Dylan to endanger him, his wife and his unborn child for mere morale. And right now, Harper seemed to agree with him – no wonder, with that weak immune system of his.

“Well, what would _you_ suggest?” he demanded. “Sitting here and being exposed to hard radiation, just to ensure your so-called moral superiority?” He seemed willing to shoot Dylan at that moment, and, to be honest, felt like it, too.

“I do have an… acquaintance on the Drift,” Höhne offered carefully, easing away from the enraged Nietzschean. “A trader called Grask. He... might be willing to buy some… unnecessary equipment from you, in exchange of the spare parts you need.”

“What’s the catch?” Dylan asked, with suspicion in his voice.

“He, well…” Höhne shifted uncomfortably. “He’s a… Chichin.”

“Oh great,” Harper rolled his eyes. “In case you don’t know, they never buy what they can steal. How’s that better than stealing the stuff ourselves and saving the extra costs?”

“They're scum,” Tyr growled. “They eat their own young. I'll thank you to see that he comes nowhere near me.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Rev Bem commented gravely. Dylan nodded.

“Yeah, make a note of that,” he said, and the Magog inclined his head again.

“No need for that,” Tyr said. “I’ve some personal business on the Drift; I can take care of it, while you are dealing with the Chichin.”

“What kind of business?” Dylan asked, his suspicions rising again.

Tyr flashed him a charming grin. “I’ll make sure to be back on time. I don’t want to experience the effects of a class-seven solar storm on my DNA… or on that of my family.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
This was not Tyr’s first visit on El Dorado Drift. He had been there before, several times, doing _business_ , as he preferred to call his mercenary assignments. That didn’t mean, however, that he found it easy to find his way around the maze of modules, corridors, industrial and habitat areas, gardens, malls and whatnots. A quarter million people lived on this drift, and finding the one he was looking for was not easy. Not even with Höhne’s contacts. After all, the Perseid had never met his Nietzschean informant face to face – they only had the occasional radio connection. All Tyr had was a name and a vague location.

But Nietzscheans are nothing if not persistent, and after an increasingly frustrating fifty minutes, he finally reached the sector where his fellow Nietzscheans lived. Mostly unimportant members of small, more or less extinct Prides or outcasts without a Pride, forced to live among strangers who hated and avoided them like the plague. Unless they needed an _Über_ for a job with which they didn’t want to make their hands dirty.

“I’m looking for Dr. Hamayouni,” Tyr said to the olive-skinned, dark-haired teenage boy who was repairing something that looked like an antiquated communications device in the anteroom of the supposed clinic.

“Kaveh only accepts Nietzschean patients,” the youngling answered in a bored manner that didn’t lack a certain air of haughtiness, though. He didn’t even look up from his work; since Tyr had referred to the person he wanted to meet by his surname, the boy automatically assumed he was a _kludge_.

Of course, that didn’t excuse the fact that he seemed not to recognize another Nietzschean by smell alone. Was the boy somehow damaged or had Völsung Pride really sunk so low? Tyr grabbed him by the throat, slammed him against the bulkhead and flexed his bone blades before those shocked young eyes.

“And why would that be a problem for me?” he asked menacingly.

“Is _this_ answer enough?” a third voice replied with a question of its own, and Tyr felt the muzzle of a gauss pistol pressed into his lower back, at the anatomically correct place where a shot would go directly through his heart. He still could have disarmed the other man, of course, there were techniques for that sort of emergency, but right now, that wasn’t the point.

He let the boy drop to the floor like a wet rag and slowly turned around, showing that he had no intention to fight. His attacker was a middle-aged Nietzschean male, with the same olive skin and dark eyes as the boy, his springy black hair short-cropped and greying. He wore a simple grey coverall, the sleeves of which had been cut just above his elbows to make room for his bone blades and leather bracers.

“Are you Dr. Hamayouni?” Tyr asked.

“What if I am?” the man asked back again, instead of giving a straight answer. “Who wants to know it, and for what reason?”

“I’ve been looking for Kaveh Hamayouni, out of Parendi by Tahamtan, one of the last of Völsung Pride, for quite some time,” Tyr answered formally, almost certain now that he’d actually found the man. Making him admit his identity was another matter entirely, of course. “As for my business with him – it’s my concern and his only.”

“I see,” the man said with a wry expression on his handsome face. “Do you happen to have a name, stranger?”

“I’m Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa of Kodiak Pride,” Tyr replied simply.

The man laughed. “That’s rather unlikely, since the ruling family of Kodiak Pride had been erased by the Drago-Kazov, twenty-two years ago.”

“They have,” Tyr replied calmly, “all but me, that is. I was captured and sold as a slave to the Xochitl mines.” He nodded towards the frightened but still defiant boy. “I was about his age. I came out. What possible reason would _you_ have to hide?”

The other man eyed him warily. “You’re Alpha. He’s barely Beta material. A nice enough kid, but inferior – like the rest of us.”

“You have no Alphas left?” Tyr asked. The very un-Nietzschean resignation of the older man surprised him.

“Not a single one,” the other replied grimly. “Or any fully adult, fertile men, for that matter. You’ve come too late. Völsung Pride doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just a name, an identification for a handful of failures.” He sighed and raised his forearm to the traditional Nietzschean greeting. “I _am_ Kaveh Hamayouni. How did you find me?”

“Through Höhne,” Tyr crossed forearms with him. “I found your name in old Castalian records, and the Perseid mentioned having sporadic contact with you.”

“Castalia,” the older man nodded grimly. “I heard they’ve joined that so-called New Commonwealth. Weren’t you part of freeing the _Andromeda Ascendant_ from the Hephaistos black hole? I heard you are part of the crew now.”

“So you _know_ who I am?” Tyr frowned. “Why the games, then?”

Hamayouni shrugged. “I know who Tyr Anasazi is. I’m still not convinced it’s _you_ , though.”

“Would a DNA-test convince you?” Tyr asked. He _had_ to convince the doctor – Hamayouni was his only key to the remainder of Völsung Pride. His only hope to find his kindred and reunite with them.

The older man hesitated for a moment. “Well, I _do_ have a conserved sample of Temujin Anasazi in my collection…”

Tyr pulled out one of his knives and cut his arm, just above one of his bracers. “In that case – help yourself.”

“Hermes, bring me the portable analyzer,” Dr. Hamayouni ordered, collecting a sample from Tyr’s blood. Then he walked over to the safe, opened it by providing the scanner with his thumbprint and took out the conserved DNY-sample of Tyr’s grandfather.

When the boy returned with the analyzer, he inserted both samples and watched the readings warily. With the old equipment, it took a few minutes to get the results – but they proved to be absolutely satisfying.

“Well, we do have a match,” he declared in relief; he really wasn’t looking forward to a fight with the much younger and stronger man. “You _are_ a descendant of Temujin indeed. Andraste will be surprised. She always assumed you were an impostor.”

Tyr stared at him in utter disbelief. “ _Andraste_? Andraste, out of Guinevere by Parsifal? Are you telling me that she’d survived the destruction of the Aerie Habitat? There was no hint in the Castalian records that she might still be alive.”

“Of course not,” Hamayouni snorted. “Firstly, she was burned beyond recognition – even I had difficulties finding her among the charred corpses. It’s a miracle that she survived at all, but she took permanent damage, just like her son. Secondly, we took great care to cover our trail. We didn’t want some overzealous Castalian to finish the job that they had begun, you know.”

“How many of you are still there?” Tyr asked.

“Twenty-two,” the doctor sighed. “Some old men with crippling injuries, some of my generation, both male and female, who became infertile due to radiation, some younglings that, miraculously enough, made it out or were already born into exile… none of them is older than thirty, and none of them is Alpha material.”

“No fertile women of mature age at all?” Tyr asked with a frown. If it was so, that could put a serious damper on his dynastic plans.

“We have three,” Dr. Hamayouni shrugged, “but their bloodlines are inferior.”

“Are they married off yet?” Tyr didn’t let up, despite the older man’s apparent uneasiness about the topic. He needed to know if there still were Völsung females he could procreate with.

Dr. Hamayouni shook his head. “Who would accept the daughters of inferior Betas, from an extinct Pride?”

“ _I would_ ,” Tyr said calmly. “They might be the daughters of Betas, but they are my blood. _Kodiak_ blood. Are their genes damaged in any way?”

“No, no, they are completely healthy,” the doctor assured him hurriedly. “Their parents were working on different places outside the Castalian system during the destruction – that’s how most of our younger ones survived in the first place. By their families not being important enough. Sadly, what we have is the weakest of our original gene pool.”

“Right now, everyone with any Kodiak blood and healthy genes is of utmost importance,” Tyr said. Hamayouni considered this for a moment – then he nodded.

“I understand. You are working on rebuilding Kodiak Pride, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I’m trying,” Tyr replied. “But for that, I need to find every single one who has Kodiak blood in his veins. There are almost none of us left, it seems, so we need to strengthen our bloodline.”

“ _Our_ bloodline,” Dr. Hamayouni echoed bitterly. “There used to be four major bloodlines in Völsung Pride alone – one of them, that of Hermes,” he nodded towards his young assistant, “doesn’t even have a fertile female left. Even with your finding us, inbreeding would weaken us too much for the Pride to survive.”

“I can’t be the only Kodiak left,” Tyr said. “There must be a few others, scattered across the three galaxies. I intend to find them all – just as I’ve found you – and the _Andromeda_ is a means to reach that goal. Nor am I planning to inbreed. I’ve already taken a First Wife, from the line of Saladin Cree, and a second one, a daughter of Ezekial El-Hakim, has just been offered to me a short time ago.”

“El-Hakim?” Hamayouni seemed properly impressed. “That’d make a strong alliance. What do you need us for, when you can have a Sabra?”

“You are _blood_ ,” Tyr emphasized. “The only blood I know to exist, right now. Stop with this defeatist attitude at once! You survived. Now it’s time to care for your future.”

Technically, he had no right to treat the older man like this – not yet, anyway, not before the Völsung survivors officially accepted his leadership. But the doctor’s attitude had begun to irritate him. Hamayouni took no offence, however. As if he’d been used to being snapped at by strangers – it was an infuriating thought. Infertile male or not, he still had Kodiak blood in him!

“And the future – that would be you?” he asked with mild irony.

Tyr shrugged. “You are in need of leadership. I can provide it, if your people have the common sense to accept it.”

“That would be Andraste’s choice,” Hamayouni said slowly.

“Then take me to her!” Tyr demanded. He was tired of dealing with this inferior, uncertain, defeated man. This sorry excuse of a Nietzschean.

“She’s not here,” Hamayouni answered, “nor are the others, save Hermes and Achilles. Our people don’t like living on drifts or space stations anymore – too many bad memories. These boys only chose to stay here with me because they are from my mother’s bloodline. I was the one who saved and raised them, and they refused to leave me.”

“So, where are the others, then?” Tyr asked impatiently. The doctor’s story failed to impress him. Sentimentality was a weakness that a dying Pride couldn’t afford, but these people apparently failed to understand that.

“On the planet Haukin Vora,” Hamayouni replied with a thin smile. “And yes, I _am_ aware of the irony of the situation.”

“That they were practically sitting under my nose for years?” Tyr asked acerbically. “Yeah, what a funny coincidence it is! Has it never occurred to your Matriarch to contact me?”

Hamayouni shrugged. “We had no proof that you really were whom you stated to be – until now. Everyone thought your family extinct – your family _and_ Kodiak Pride. You were attacked by fellow Nietzscheans. Our people are a lot more thorough than the Castalians.”

“Somehow I doubt that’d be the only reason,” Tyr said grimly. “Can it be that your Matriarch was actually _afraid_ to find out the truth about me? That she didn’t want to share leadership?”

“I don’t know,” the doctor replied honestly. “The times when she’d trust me enough to speak of her intentions are long gone. She’s become increasingly paranoid in the exile.”

“I don’t care about her paranoia,” Tyr said. “She can stay alone and brood if she wants, but I won’t allow her to destroy the future of her Pride. Of _our_ Pride. I need to find your people. Are you willing to help me, or do I have to take your office apart to find the information I want?”

The dark eyes of the doctor glittered. “Don’t threaten me, Anasazi; unlike human doctors, I didn’t swear any Hippocratic Oath. And there are more ways to harm a Nietzschean than just a gauss pistol. Fortunately for you, though, I happen to agree with you about the future of our Pride. So, yes, I’ll give you the instructions you’ll need to find the others.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When Tyr returned to the _Andromeda_ , the Chichin trader – a reptiloid bipedal creature with a face that looked like a cross between a cobra and a salamander, not to mention wearing a perpetual and annoyingly smug grin – was just about to leave. Tyr retreated to a side corridor to avoid meeting it. There was something profoundly unsettling in a creature that could change its colour at will… not to mention eat its own offspring in need.

“I’m glad to see its back,” he said to Freya who had come to meet him at the airlock.

“So am I,” she replied, laying a hand on her rounded belly with an instinctive gesture. “What about… have you found your people?”

“Some of them,” Tyr answered. “Unfortunately, none that would count. I’ll have to go to Haukin Vora to meet their Matriarch.”

“She got out?” Freya was stunned. “Do you know her?”

“Only by reputation,” Tyr shrugged. “She’s a cousin second grades of my maternal grandsire, Boëthius. And she seems to be one stubborn woman. We’ll see.”

“Are you leaving at once?” Freya asked. Tyr shook his head.

“First _we_ need to get away from here. Did they get everything we wanted from the Chichin?”

“I have no idea,” Freya said. “They won’t speak to me, unless it’s absolutely necessary, remember? You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“I intend to,” Tyr kissed her. “Go back to our quarters. That’s in one of the best shielded areas of the ship; there you’ll be safe for the time being… both of you.”

“That won’t help much, either of us, if we don’t escape the solar storm,” Freya reminded him soberly.

“I’m working on it,” Tyr said, aiming for the bridge.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Are we ready to leave?” he demanded, striding out onto the command deck.

Nobody paid his growl any attention. Beka was watching Harper working on Rommie, who was giving him feedback, and Rev Bem was watching the swirly blue storm on the main viewer with almost religious awe.

“A little to the left,” Rommie instructed Harper. He worked on the conduit some more, and it sparkled. Rommie smiled at her engineer and a moved of her shoulders and her head a bit, apparently satisfied. “Perfect.”

Harper flashed her a grin of his own, full of pride and self-satisfaction. “I aim to please.”

“Mag... nificient,” Rev Bem murmured. Unfortunately for Harper’s ego, he was still watching the swirls of the storm that were shining like… like gaseous oil. Contradictory as it sounded, there was simply no better word for it.

Tyr shot the Magog an annoyed look “I wish you would stop looking for beauty in things that want to kill us.”

“This storm has no intent,” Rev Bem replied placidly. “It simply _is_.”

Tyr rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to throttle the Magog, which was getting more difficult with each passing day. There were only so many platitudes he was able to endure at any given time, and Rev Bem tended to get dangerously close to the threshold of his endurance.

“Can we evade it?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to the task at hand.

Rev Bem shrugged philosophically. “If the neutrino damper is working properly, we should have an excellent margin for safety.”

Right on cue, there was a spectacular… firework in the conduit Harper was working on. Power levels fell on the command deck abruptly, and so did Rommie. Harper barely managed to catch her, with Rev Bem rushing to his aid.

“Circuit overload,” Harper diagnosed grimly. “I think we can safely say, the, uh, damper's defective.”

Why am I not surprised?” Tyr growled and switched on the comm system. “Dylan to command. That _lizard_ stabbed us in the back.”

The only answer he got was the hissing of static from the speakers.


	10. Escape Tactics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during the 1st Season episode _The Pearls That Were His Eyes_. Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode. The Miller Solar Storm Scale was made up by Sitaine CV Nuluhaya, who wrote the episode transcript, from which the description is quoted.
> 
> And no, I haven’t got the slightest idea what deiridium alloy would be. I needed a hard substance and I needed a name for it. And since according to time-honoured Star Trek tradition most hard substances must have a D-name, I made one up. (Yes, I’m a Trekkie, how did you guess?)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 9 - Escape Tactics**

Back in her shared quarters with Tyr, Freya was getting anxious, seeing that the _Andromeda_ still wasn’t moving away from the solar storm. One of the reasons why her Pride had chosen to live inside of an asteroid was the excellent shielding that several miles of solid rock provided. Although she was no astrophysicist, she knew that no starship could provide quite the same protection. None with a defective neutrino damper anyway.

“ _Andromeda_ ,” she said, “give me a short overview about the upcoming storm and the possible consequences.” She’d picked up the custom of calling the AI by name, instead of simply addressing it with ‘Ship!’ as was Tyr’s wont.

“Certainly,” the image of Rommie popped up on the viewscreen. “Are you familiar with the Miller Solar Storm Scale?”

Freya shrugged. “Vaguely. It’s a one through seven rating, based on the storm’s intensity, isn’t it?”

“Correct. The scale is used to give us an estimate of the potential property damage and loss of life expected in inhabited artificial systems lacking a working neutrino damper.”

“Like yourself, right now?” Freya asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Rommie admitted. “Violation of nuclear force parity conservation is the determining factor in the scale, as storm surge values are highly dependent on the stability of neutrino/matter coupling.”

Freya felt the approach of the mother of all headaches.

“Which means… what exactly in our case?” she asked.

“In case of a Class Seven solar storm, the neutrino instability is greater than 1 million percent of normal background levels,” Rommie explained in the detached manner of a university professor.” The storm surge is generally greater than 1.5 million over normal. Complete outer skin failure can be expected on unprotected starships and drifts. Anti-proton, exotic matter and ion-powered systems are disrupted and will need extensive repairs.”

“What chances might we have?” Freya asked. “ _Do_ we have any at all?”

“I’m afraid not,” the ship’s AI replied. “No currently developed life-support system will function in this environment. Massive evacuation of life forms within 5 million km of the affected area may be required. To date, the strongest Class Seven solar storm was recorded at CY9444. But this will be close.”

“Thank you,” Freya said evenly, and the computer image vanished from the screen. Freya switched on the intercom system. “Tyr,” she said, determined, “I need to speak you. _Now_!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
A few decks away, Dylan Hunt was standing alone in a corridor of the _Andromeda_ , doing some last-minute system checks with the ship’s AI.

“Slipfighter fuel cells charged. O2 is at 18 percent,” he said.

“Check, and check,” the voice of Rommie answered, while a slipfighter diagram rotated on the viewscreen and beeped softly. “Captain, do you really want to go down there and hunt down the Chichin? It’s not too late to slipstream away, you know.”

“I don’t _want_ to go down there,” Dylan replied with an expression of smug superiority on his face, “but I _have_ to. I can’t let the Chichin get away with the foul move he’s pulled on me, or traders on every sleazy drift would think I’m easy prey.”

“You are taking this personally,” Rommie realized. It sounded… surprised.

“You bet I am,” Dylan riposted, running more system checks. “I won’t let him – or anyone else - play me for a fool.”

“And you are risking your life – and that of your entire crew – just to prove that?” Rommie asked seriously. “Tyr won’t be pleased.”

“And I don’t care,” Dylan said. “Or have you seen _him_ care about what I think of his… independent little actions?”

“You are risking his _life_ , Captain,” Rommie reminded him, “and that of his wife and his unborn child. He’ll be a lunatic, soon.”

“In that case, it’d be better to disable his access code to the slipfighter hangar, wouldn’t it?” Dylan asked smugly. “Thanks for reminding me. Disable his code.”

“Captain, I’m not sure this is a good idea…”

“I haven’t asked you, Rommie. Execute your orders.”

“Very well,” Rommie answered with obvious reluctance. “Code disabled.”

“Going someplace?” a raspy, amused voice asked from behind Dylan’s back, making him jump. It was Rev Bem. Dylan shot him an annoyed look but tried to cover his annoyance with a forced laugh.

“Rev, I wish you wouldn't do that,” he said. “Besides, you are... early. Confession's not supposed to come until after I commit the crime.”

“I never took you for a man who flees from the consequences of his decisions,” Rev Bem said enigmatically, causing the captain to wonder just how long the Magog had been listening to his conversation with Rommie.

“I'm not fleeing,” he said defensively. “I just have to run an errand.”

“If you say so,” the Magog replied, clearly not believing a word. Dylan glared at him.

“Wanna come and share the fun?”

Rev Bem chuckled in a manner that most creatures of the non-Magog sort would have found more than a little disturbing. “Most definitely,” he said in delight, watching Dylan glancing back and forth between two monitors. “Don't tell me...” he chuckled knowingly again. “ You've got a plan.”

Dylan shrugged. “Okay, I won't. But you would do well if you boarded the slipfighter with me at once, or we’ll be too late.”

Rev shook his head, almost giddily. “Hmm, he always has a plan!” And with that, he followed the captain into the hangar.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr stormed onto the command deck like… like an enraged Nietzschean who felt himself and his family in mortal danger. There wasn’t really anything that could have been compared to the sight. The others were watching the main viewscreen, which showed the leading edge of the cloudy storm, almost touching the _Andromeda_.

“Dammit,” Harper murmured nervously, “the freaking thing is playing havoc with gravity control, electrical systems and bridge answering service… that’s so not good…”

Which, at least, answered the question why Tyr hadn’t been able to reach the command deck a few minutes earlier. However, it did _not_ explain Dylan’s absence… or that of the Magog.

“Where is he?” Tyr demanded, his murderous glare in the direction of the command chair making it unmistakably clear whom he meant.

Harper shrugged. “I'm sorry, Captain Hunt has stepped away from his desk. Please leave a message after the tone from the funny little guy,” he imitated the usual beeping tone. “Beep!”

Tyr grabbed his shirt and yanked him up to eye level. “Are you amused, boy? Well, _I am not_! We have at best eight hours before that storm reduces us to component parts, and Dylan has disappeared. Now, tell me where he is!”

Struggling wasn’t an option while hanging by his collar from Tyr’s paw, so Harper just rolled his eyes. “I don't know, okay? Ask the Rev, maybe _he_ knows.”

Tyr let him drop to the floor roughly and strode out, throwing over his shoulder with a snarl, “He is missing, too!”

Harper glared at the door that had already closed behind Tyr and rubbed his neck angrily.

“Try decaf,” he growled, “and see if I _ever_ do you a favour again,” conveniently forgetting that Tyr had actually _paid_ him for the most recent ‘favour’.

Radiance of Wisdom, working at one of the science stations, wiggled her antennae askance. “You did the Nietzschean a favour? Why would you do that?”

“At the time, it seemed a good idea,” Harper replied. “Now I’m not so sure about it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Leaving the command deck, Tyr strode directly to the slipfighter hangar. He’d have preferred the _Maru_ for a trip out of the system, especially with an additional person in the cockpit, but Beka had taken the _Maru_ to Diphda V and nobody knew when she was about to return. With less than eight hours left, he simply couldn’t wait. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one, as he found the Emerald Than _and_ Glittering Starlight standing in front of the hangar doors.

“I see you reached the same conclusion,” the cackling vocoder voice of the Ruby Than said. “Unfortunately, we seem to have a problem.”

“What sort of problem?” Tyr asked, an ugly suspicion sneaking up on him. Surely Hunt wouldn’t…

“See for yourself,” the Ruby Than typed in her own access code.

“Access denied,” the computer said. “Hangar deck is sealed until further orders by the authority of Captain Dylan Hunt.”

“Whom I’m going to kill with my bare hands, as soon as I can get hold of him, “Tyr growled. “But first, we must see that we get away from here. You with me?”

“Depends,” the Ruby Than answered. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve had enough of Dylan Hunt’s mind games, Tyr replied. “I’m getting the biggest gun from my quarters and shooting these damned doors to pieces.”

He whirled around to storm away, when the holographic image of Rommie flickered into existence in front of him, about two meters away.

“I’m afraid that won’t help you a bit,” she said. “Firstly, these doors are made of fourteen centimeters of _deiridium_ alloy; your biggest gun won’t even scratch them. Secondly, there are better solutions.”

“For example?”

“Following High Guard protocol,” and with that, the hologram flickered off.

Tyr glared at the place where she had been in stunned disbelief. “What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Glittering Starlight tilted her head to the side, her big, compound eyes glittering. “I think it means, that with Captain Hunt and Captain Valentine absent, you are the highest-ranking officer aboard.”

Tyr looked at her, understanding dawning on his face. “I see. Yes, this definitely has promise. We should go to the command deck, then.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the Ruby Than agreed and followed him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr returned to the command deck, with Glittering Starlight in trail, in a decidedly enraged state of mind. He found Harper in a fairly similar mood – although perhaps not entirely for the same reason. The Sapphire Than and Höhne, on the other hand, were scanning the approaching storm with a detached scientific excitement that made everyone else want to throttle them.

“New data of estimated storm intensity are coming in,” Radiance of Wisdom told the Perseid, and she called up the readings in question. Höhne stroked his long, ridged chin with sparkling eyes.

“Oh, my!” he exclaimed. “Seems that this storm will be close to the one of CY 9444 at peak intensity – the strongest one on record, so far. But this will be a close match. Very, very close.”

Harper risked a look at the readings, his thin face pale and pinched. The fear in his eyes was very real – understandably, considering his weak health.

“Did I mention I'm not having fun yet?” he asked rhetorically. “Is there any chance we could go down to the Drift in time? It should be better protected right now.”

“It is,” Tyr growled, “but Dylan, in his infinite wisdom, sealed the slipfighter hangar. The doors are password-protected. We can’t get in.”

“Oooookay,” Harper visibly struggled with his rapidly growing panic, “I probably can hack you in without a password. Just gimme a few minutes…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tyr removed his weapons’ belt and vaulted into the slipstream chair from the side. “I’m assuming command.”

Harper shot him an insecure look. “Ummm… not that I’d disagree or anything, especially if it means that we might save our hides, but have you cleared that with Rommie? She might have some objections.”

“I don’t think so,” Tyr said. “I am the highest-ranking officer aboard right now. It’s my right and my duty to save the ship _and_ the crew.”

“Including yourself,” Harper commented cynically. “Not that I’d object to being saved, mind you.”

“ _Especially_ myself and my family,” Tyr agreed. “Ship! Engage thrusters and take us out of here.”

“Unable to comply,” the computer replied.

Before Tyr could have demanded an explanation, the door opened again, and in walked Dylan and Rev, practically dragging the struggling and protesting Chichin onto the bridge.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain Anasazi?” Dylan asked, with an unbearably self-gratulating expression on his face.

Tyr eyed him warily. He wasn’t leaving the slipstream chair yet, still not trusting the captain’s plan to get them out in time. He trusted his own reflexes, however, to get the ship into slipstream before Dylan could counteract.

“Permission granted,” he replied. It was a formality, of course, since Rommie would never support him against Dylan, but officially not even Hunt could give orders before command was transferred back to him.

“Thank you,” Dylan said, before turning back to his involuntary ‘guest’, who kept looking around with quick, jerky movements of his snake-like head.

“So, Mr. Grask,” the captain said pleasantly, “have you ever got the chance to get up close and personal with a class-seven solar storm?”

“N-no,” the Chichin stammered nervously.

“Then you are lucky to be here now,” Radiance of Wisdom offered in obvious amusement. “They say it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“Because nobody lived through one and got the chance to see a second one so far,” Höhne added, giggling.

Somehow, that remark didn’t seem to cheer up the Chichin a bit. He was visibly panicking, his limbs shaking uncontrollably.

“Y-you can't keep me here,” he protested, “I'm a highly ressspected businesssman.”

“Yeah, sure, and I’m sworn to celibacy,” Harper snorted, simultaneously with Dylan’s declaration that the Chichin is most certainly _not_ respected on _his_ ship.

Höhne looked at the young engineer in surprise. “Really? I thought you’d be rather… well, it seems my first impression was wrong. Most astonishing. I’m rarely mistaken. Rekeeb will be surprised.”

Harper rolled his eyes. “I was _joking_ , Höhne!”

“Oh, of course,” the Perseid giggled a little, these humans were so entertaining. “A… little joke. I see.”

The Chichin, on the other hand, was _not_ amused. In fact, he seemed to swing back and forth between panic and righteous annoyance. Neither of which kept him from shamelessly begging and whining to Dylan.

“You mussst underssstand,” he hissed nervously, “I have to get back to my warehoussse. My employeesss will sssteal me blind!” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture, like a confused bat. “That Leeshka… my apprentissse… Ahh! Hasss the brainsss of a sssnivlet, I can’t let him oversssee busssinesss.”

Tyr shot the Chichin a disgusted look. “Can I kill him now?”

Dylan paid him no attention, focusing on his ‘guest’ with the intensity of a hunting cat.

“Oh, I do understand that honesty and integrity were casualties of war,” the captain said with a very unpleasant smile, “and while I may not approve” he turned to Tyr,” – for the record, I don't approve –“ he turned back to the Chichin, “right now, my bad day is your bad day.” He clapped Grask's shoulder in an overly friendly manner. “Enjoy the view.”

Tyr noticed with amusement that the Magog had crept up behind the back of the Chichin and was now breathing down his neck.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Rev Bem cooed, eyeing the Chichin as one would a particularly appealing buffet.

The Chichin practically jumped into the air, hyperventilating, and clutched Dylan's arm instinctively. “Keep that cannibal away from me!”

Despite their increasingly dangerous situation, Harper couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Uh, cannibal?” he said mockingly. “Nnno. See, _the Rev_ doesn't eat his own kind. Chichin, however…” he added, pretending to ponder over the topic. “Nah, I don’t think you’re entitled to call anyone else a cannibal.”

“Isn’t he cute?” Rev Bem half-purred, half-growled, dancing one of his claws near Grask's bald head. “He makes me really, really hungry.”

“Rev,” Dylan chastised him in a falsely exasperated manner, “behave!”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Rev Bem rasped without regret, “but when their whining exceeds a certain... decibel level, I find it very difficult to control my… lower nature.”

The Chichin gave a strange, high-pitched squeak and scurried away from the Magog, towards Harper's station. Harper grinned, but kept a worried eye on the readings, wishing that Dylan would stop playing mind games and finally _do_ something.

“How much longer before the storm reaches its peak?” Dylan asked the Sapphire Than.

‘I wouldn't crack open any epic novels if I were you,” Tyr said before Radiance of Wisdom could have answered. “Of course, if I _were_ you, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“Why, Tyr, I never knew you were such a pessimist,” Dylan smirked. Tyr gave him the Look.

“I’m first and foremost a pragmatist, _Captain_ ,” as always, the title sounded like an insult, coming from his mouth. “ _And_ I’m a husband, who’d very much like to become a father, if there weren’t that small issue of survival. Which would be fairly unlikely, if we waste here any more time with your sneaky little games.”

“You worry too much, Tyr,” Dylan said lightly. “We might be able to hold together.”

“Yeah, if miracles would still happen, and if the second coming of Drago Museveni would be imminent,” Harper snorted. That earned him a rather strange look from Tyr.

“That’s not something you should be joking about, boy,” the Nietzschean growled. “It could lead to… unfortunate consequences.”

Harper glared at him defiantly. “Are you threatening me, _Über_?”

“No,” Tyr replied calmly, “I’m warning you. Other Nietzscheans would not. So be careful with that loose mouth of yours.”

“ _Of course_ ,” Dylan continued, ignoring them both. “we'd be a lot safer if we had a _working_ neutrino damper.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Harper commented sarcastically, ignoring Tyr’s warning as well. This whole game started getting on his nerves, and he didn’t care whom he made angry anymore.

“A… a damper?” the Chichin turned his head with the typical jerking gesture of his kind, scurrying back to Dylan carefully. “Y-you need a neutrino damper?” he laughed nervously. “W-what a coinsssidenssse, I… I c-can get you a d-damper, a beauuu-tiful b-brand-new damper you will be p-proud to call your own...” he giggled again, still nervous as hell.

“You don't say...” Dylan said languidly.

The ship rocked again, sparkling inside and out like fireworks. Dylan looked at Harper, and the engineer shrugged in a fatalistic manner.

“There’s nothing I can do, boss – unless our lizard friend here produces that damper within the hour.”

“I see,” Dylan turned back to the Chichin. “I presume you _are_ capable of doing that, Mr. Grask?”

“I… ah… of courssse, Captain…”

“Perhaps I should accompany him,” Rev Bem offered, radiating false benevolence, and the Chichin practically crawled up the bulkhead in utter panic.

“N-no! No need for that. T-the damper isss in the holding bay of my vesssel. Jussst a few m-minutesss are nesssesssary…”

“I think it’s better if Mr. Harper accompanies you,” Dylan said. “Just to make sure we get the real item, this time.”

“Right, I can do that,” Harper jumped forth from his station. “Wisdom, can you call the Worker bugs and tell them to meet me outside the Chichin ship? They’re a lot better workers than the bots.”

Without waiting for an answer, he jogged out, dragging the Chichin behind him. Radiance of Wisdom was already making the call to her fellow Than, while Höhne looked at Dylan with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“That was a very close call, Captain. I hope you’re aware of that. Getting away in time would have worked just as well.”

Dylan nodded. “I know. But it was necessary to get a working damper anyway; we might need it later again. Besides, I don’t like it when people think they can fool me.”

“And _I don’t like_ the way you are playing games with my life and with that of my family,” Tyr said in a low, even voice, his eyes cold. “Next time, I won’t let you get away with something like that.”

“Oh, really?” Dylan asked snidely. “And what would you do to hinder me? Kill me?”

“If I have to,” Tyr replied bluntly.

The others fell in shocked silence – not that they didn’t think he’d be capable of doing so, but they were surprised that he dared to threaten the captain so openly. Only Dylan didn’t seem concerned at all.

“ _After_ you have warned me?” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

Tyr shrugged. “Try me.”

Dylan considered that for a moment, then he shrugged, too. “Very well. I consider myself warned.”

“You better do,” Tyr said, completely unfazed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Less than an hour later, the new neutrino damper was installed and the solar storm nothing but a pretty backdrop behind the _Andromeda_. Tyr and Freya were enjoying the view from the Hydroponics deck. Colourful reflections rippled on Trance’s garden and the naked walls. They lay on a blanket, spread out on the floor and talked.

“Do you think Beka will ever come back?” Freya asked, resting peacefully in Tyr’s embrace, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

“I'm wondering,” Tyr admitted. “During the last three months, that old rustbin of hers has been upgraded… no, it has practically been rebuilt, from the weapons systems through the engines to the computers,” he shrugged carefully, not wanting to disturb Freya’s rest. “I think it's quite possible she may have taken advantage of Captain Hunt’s inane generosity and gone back into business for herself.”

“And left her crew behind?” Freya asked. “I doubt that. They’re like family for her.”

“True, but she could still be planning to pick them up later,” Tyr pointed out. “The purple girl is with her already; and she’s resourceful enough to extract the boy and the Magog any time she wants.”

“Freya laughed. “ _If_ she can tear Harper away from Rommie, which is highly unlikely. The little _kludge_ is practically in love with the AI. Or perhaps obsession would be a better word for it.”

“A very unhealthy obsession,” Tyr commented. “Harper should spread his genes widely, instead of obsessing about a warship. He might be weak and sickly, but his intellect is outstanding. It should he handed down to the next generation.”

“ _Kludge_ s are so irresponsible,” Freya sighed. “Speaking of which, Tyr, I think we shouldn’t risk getting caught in a situation like the most recent one ever again. I don’t like my life – and that of our child – being dependent on Dylan Hunt’s irrational decisions. We must be able to get off this ship the next time something like this happens.”

“I agree,” Tyr nodded, “and I think I know what we need for that.”

“Oh, let me guess,” Freya’s eyes sparkled. “A ship of our own?”

“A ship of our own,” Tyr agreed. “A small one, something like the _Eureka Maru_ , just in a better shape.”

“You want to get a _freighter_?” Freya asked in surprise. “I thought you’d want a battleship of some sort.”

“I’d want a battleship if I wanted to go to open war,” Tyr explained, “but I want to keep my family safe, and for that, a battleship would draw too much attention. But a freighter like the _Maru_ can be seriously upgraded to pull quite a punch; and it can blend in much better.”

“And there would be enough place for a family, at least for the time being,” Freya nodded. “I see your point. But where can you find the right ship?”

“I’ve already sent a message to Ferahr,” Tyr revealed. “He has good contacts among traders, and he’s about the only one I can trust – within reasonable margins, that is.”

“But you’ll need help with the upgrades,” Freya reminded him. “Do you think Harper would be willing to work for you in his spare time again?”

Tyr shrugged. “As long as I pay him, I think he would. Besides, according to Kaveh, some of his people – _our_ people – can handle ships as well. They are mostly workers, not warriors.”

“When will you be able to meet them?” Freya asked.

“I hope soon,” Tyr said. “Dylan mentioned something about visiting some backward planet that’s only one slipstream jump away from the Haukin system. That’d be an excellent opportunity.”

“All we need is Beka to return, so that you can borrow the _Maru_ again, for a visit to your relatives, then,” Freya grinned.

Tyr grinned back at her. “That, and a good excuse to leave the _Andromeda_.”

“Hmmm,” Freya raised a speculative eyebrow. “What if you tried something radical and told him the truth?” At Tyr’s disbelieving glare, she grinned again. “Well, part of the truth anyway. That’d confuse him to no end.”

“Well, there’s that,” Tyr admitted thoughtfully.

“You could probably arrange a meeting with Mikaelan, too,” Freya suggested, but Tyr shook his head.

“Not yet. Not before I met the Völsung. They could prove an important bargaining chip in the dowry negotiations.”

“True,” Freya said. “The Alpha of a Pride, even that of a very small one, is in a much better bargaining position than an Alpha with no Pride at all.”

“Precisely,” Tyr grinned at her fondly. “But even if the Völsung refuse to re-join Kodiak Pride, we can prove the most important factor: my fertility,” he laid a gentle hand upon her belly. “You have started showing already, have you noticed?”

“No, I haven’t ,” Freya laughed. “That’s nothing but wishful thinking from your side. But soon.”

“Soon,” Tyr agreed, although he could have sworn that there already were visible signs of Freya’s pregnancy. “And I’ll see to it that you’ll be safe. Both of you.”

“I know you will,” Freya turned a little in his arms and kissed him. “Can we drop the conversation now? I find this spectacle out there rather… inspiring.”


	11. Wrongs Past Casting Present Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between the 1st Season episodes “The Pearls That Were His Eyes” and “The Mathematics of Tears”. The opening dialogue is a modified version of the opening sequence of TMoT. I messed up the timeline a bit, in order to squeeze in the events of this chapter.
> 
> What you can read about Nietzschean culture here is mostly my extrapolation. It’s based on what little we are given in canon (up to the end of Season 2), but developed further in a perhaps different way. Especially the stuff about various bloodlines and the names they use. In canon, Nietzschean names seem to be given completely randomly; I tried to bring a bit of logic into the custom.
> 
> The insignificant planet Nindalph was named after an area in JRR Tolkien’s Middle-Earth (original spelling Nindalf = Wetwang), just because I liked the sound of it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 10 - Wrongs Past Casting Present Shadows**

As it turned out, Freya had been right and Tyr had been wrong about Beka, who indeed returned, although thirty-six hours too late and with one bitter disappointment richer. But at least with her and Trance being back, the _Andromeda_ could finally continue her journey to Nindalph, one more backwater planet that Dylan hoped to talk into joining his shiny new Commonwealth.

At least that was how Tyr put it, before leaving for the Haukin system.

The captain was _not_ happy about his fire control officer’s intended detour, but he knew how high Nietzscheans valued family – or the hope to have one. Besides, he also knew that as long as Freya remained aboard, Tyr would return. Beka had lent him the _Maru_ willingly enough, and Trance and Farrendahl went with him to pick up some new plants and sorely needed resources for Hydroponics.

The negotiations, on the other hand, didn’t go well, despite Born to Starfire’s efforts to persuade Nindalph’s planetary council – a government with friendly enough relations to the Than Hegemony – to at least listen to Dylan’s arguments about the possible benefits of a new Commonwealth. The councillors – a colourful mix of Inari, Perseids, Than and Umbrites – seemed to think that since they had been doing just fine without any Commonwealth overseers looking over their collective shoulders, they wouldn’t need any in the future, either. At least Höhne and Rekeeb had spent an exciting time of scientific exchange with their fellow chinheads.

Finally Dylan had to admit that negotiations weren’t getting anywhere and he gave up on Nindalph… for the time being, he said, but deep in their hearts they all knew that it was a fairly permanent thing. 

So now they were on their way to Yoso Drift, to pick up Trance and the Makra as agreed. Radiance of Wisdom was still analyzing the data she had gathered about the solar storm near El Dorado Drift, while various other Than worked at various other stations, Rev Bem meditated in Hydroponics and Dylan, Beka and Harper lingered around on the command deck, trying to deal with the aftertaste of the failed attempt.

Well, Dylan was dealing, that is. Beka was listening to his rant about the unreasonable councillors on Nindalph and Harper was leafing through mail that had come in during their stop at the planet. Which was how he found a letter from Trance.

“Hey boss,” he said, directing his words to Beka while printing the letter out, “it seems we won’t meet Trance so soon, after all.”

“Really?” Beka asked, relieved that she could listen to someone else than Dylan’s laments. “What’s the girl up to this time?”

“Lemme see,” Harper dropped into the chair at the comm station. “She writes they managed to get everything they wanted for Hydroponics. Then: ‘I know we were supposed to meet you at Yoso Drift’ – Here it comes. She met a guy. – But that was before we found out the _Mandelbrots_ are spawning on Ornithone...’”

“Ah,” Beka smiled fondly. “Trance and her pets.”

“One of the very few constants of the universe,” Harper agreed, grinning. Then he continued reading. “Farrendahl says it only happens once a century, so I thought you might understand.”

“Once a century?” Beka repeated, faking a very convincing shock. “Wow, they get less action than you, Harper.”

Harper gave her a wounded look – whether a genuine one or a fake, it was hard to tell.

“No, they don't,” he replied curtly.

There was a short, unpleasant silence, then Dylan asked. “Anything else?”

“Uh...” Harper studied the letter, “just the signature: ‘Love, Trance. P.S. Pick me up in two weeks’.”

“Two _weeks_?” Dylan repeated in a highly annoyed manner. “That's amazing, really amazing. She must think this is her own personal cruise ship.”

Beka shrugged, not understanding what all the fuss was about. “We always ran this kind of stuff fast and loose on the _Maru_ ,” she said dismissively, at which Dylan practically exploded into her face.

“This is not the _Maru_!” and with that, he stalked out, his whole stance rigid with indignation.

Beka rolled her eyes. “I’m increasingly aware of _that_ , believe me.”

“What crawled up his ass and bit him?” Harper wondered.

Sword of Midnight, currently manning Tyr’s fire control station, wiggled her antennae. “Perhaps he misses military discipline?”

Beka looked at the ceiling. “Not _that_ shit again! Haven’t we been there already?”

“Several times,” Harper agreed. “You should go and talk to him, though. Or he’ll be even more insufferable than he already is, at the very least until Trance’s back.”

“He’s just mad because he couldn’t secure that mudball of a planet for his precious Commonwealth, “Beka said cynically. “But you’re right. I’d better talk to him… useless as it would be.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
She caught up with the captain before he could have reached his quarters.

“Would you mind telling me what the hell has gotten into you?” she demanded.

“What’s gotten into _me_?” Dylan parroted angrily. “Well, let’s see: Rev Bem's retreats, Tyr’s family obligations, Harper's surfing competitions, Trance's field trips – I'm a little tired of running around three galaxies picking up this crew from their vacations.”

“You're upset we don't salute and ask your permission to disembark?” Beka asked sarcastically. “Maybe you should’ve settled for an all-Than crew. The bugs seem to have an awful lot of respect for authority – as long as it isn’t their own.”

Dylan glared daggers at her. “Don't trivialize this, Beka. I need a crew I can depend on.”

“We’re not the ones putting the lives of everyone at risk for some arcane concept and ideals that belong to a past long forgotten, _Captain_ ,” Beka said levelly. “Still, we do our best to cope with your demands, even though, as Rev likes to put it, we’re just a couple of civilians, trying to do the job of four thousand well-trained soldiers. Harper works himself into an early grave to replace an entire team of highly educated engineers, with the only help of four worker bugs. Trance has been busting her purple tail updating _Andromeda_ 's xenobiology program. Tyr might be an arrogant bastard, but without him we’d be all dead now, thrice over. So, what if they take a little unauthorized vacation time?”

“It's called going AWOL,” Dylan growled. “In the old days, that would mean two weeks in the brig.”

“The brig,” Beka repeated slowly. “I hate to remind you, _Captain_ , but these aren’t your good old days anymore. You’re in no position to make that sort of threat. You need us just as much as we need you… actually, you need us a lot more. Don’t make the mistake to treat us as you’d treat Rommie’s droids.”

“A properly run ship needs structure,” Dylan insisted. “Rules. In three years of captaining the _Andromeda_ , I never had anyone go AWOL. Not once. But this crew, they constantly put their own personal interests above the good of the mission.”

“All this crew has ever known _has been_ their own personal interests,” Beka replied. “Keeping themselves alive has been their ‘mission’ their entire lives, and believe me, it’s not been an easy task. If they need a little time off, I'd say they'd earned it.”

She whirled around to leave, but caught Dylan’s nasty remark in mid-turn.

“Earned it, my ass,” Hunt said, and Beka stepped back to him, invading his personal space consciously and glaring him directly in the eyes.

“Not everyone used to lead a spoiled and pampered life like you did, Captain, my Captain,” she spat. “I won’t let you abuse _my_ crew, just because you can’t accept that your ‘old times’ are over, have been for three hundred years. If you’re not willing to adapt to the changes, fine. But be so kind and go under without dragging _us_ down with you.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
In the meantime Tyr was on his way to Haukin Vora, after a quick visit to Ferahr Kalinga on Haukin Tau Drift. His old business partner had promised to look out for a ship that would match his needs and Tyr knew he could count on that. The man worked for a percentage, after all. Ferahr had also delivered a message from El Dorado Drift; Kaveh Hamayouni had already arrived, he said, and will be waiting for Tyr in the Haukin Vora spaceport.

Tyr piloted the _Maru_ steadily over the other planet of the system – a small and deadly world named Haukin Venya, torn and shaken by violent volcanic explosions, rather like Jupiter’s moon Io, just a lot bigger. People paid large sums for tours to see this spectacle from close proximity; something Tyr would never understand. For him, Haukin Venya was a place to avoid at any costs: life threatening and completely useless. Unlike Rev Bem, he could find no beauty in things that would kill him - with or without intention.

Haukin Vora, on the other hand, was an acceptable planet to live on. A bit harsh, perhaps, but even unmodified humans could survive there without considerable difficulties. From its size, it was slightly bigger than Earth; its gravity 0.2 grades higher – nothing to worry about. The entire planet was one large tundra, save the thin equatorial area, where the main cities had been built – the spaceport one of them. For Nietzscheans, bred and engineered to live under harsh conditions, it was a paradise – no wonder the remaining Völsung had chosen to live there.

The majority of the population – sixty-eight per cent in fact – were Inari, but Perseids, Than, Chichin and various other subspecies of humans could also be found here. Nietzscheans were a small minority, barely two per cent, most of them belonging to a cadet branch of Mandau Pride. One had to give the Mandau some credit; what they lacked in genetic quality, they certainly made up in sheer numbers. And since they were slavers and mercenaries, it gave them a level of influence they actually hadn’t quite earned.

After a short argument with the Inari dockmaster – a short and rather pointless one, since Tyr had to pay the demanded fee anyway, he just didn’t want to give in too easily – he secured the _Maru_ and found Dr. Hamayouni waiting for him in the port lounge. This time, the older man was wearing a more Nietzschean-like outfit of dark brown leather and looked more respectable than he had back on El Dorado Drift. This time, they would be among their own.

“You made good time,” the doctor said as they exchanged the traditional greeting. “So, let’s not waste any of it; I’ve got an aircar waiting outside the port.” Tyr raised an eyebrow, impressed, but Hamayouni just shrugged. “Our people live on the outskirts of the city. And the aircar belongs to us anyway. We’re not entirely penniless, you know. The Pride had… interests outside the Castalian system, which could be salvaged. All that once belonged to an entire Pride is now at our disposal.”

Tyr filed away that important bit of information for further use, as they walked out of the port to the parking area, where a four-seat aircar was indeed waiting for them, complete with driver. Kaveh introduced the very young male – barely mature enough biologically to procreate, and certainly not respected enough to find a wife, even if he weren’t Beta material – as Angus Savitar, out of Elatha by Malcolm, one of the young people who had been rescued from the Aerie Orbital Habitat as babies, doubtlessly was.

The youngling offered Tyr a respectful greeting, staring at the powerful Alpha with the eyes of a stunned child who had just witnessed the second coming of Drago Museveni. Growing up in a small group of widows and weak Betas, he’d probably never seen anyone of the Kodiak’s size and charisma. Tyr accepted the greeting with a nod, without bothering to introduce himself; they all ought to know by now who he was.

They got into the aircar and lifted off. Angus turned out to be a good driver for someone this young – despite the rather busy traffic, he maneuvered them through the criss-crossing flight paths with a steady hand, even though the local Than seemed to like kamikaze-style flying. Tyr’s appreciation for the boy went up several notches. Beta or not, the kid wasn’t completely useless. Those were good reflexes that were shown – with proper training, Angus would be able to prove himself worthy in a fight.

It took them about twenty minutes to reach one of the outer areas, where various Nietzschean clans had their fortified family estates. Angus parked the car in front of one such estate: a three-story house, protected by a high stone wall – and, most likely, by a sensor perimeter along it as well. The boy opened the front gate with the help of his code card, and they found themselves in a large courtyard divided into different training areas. At certain points of the wall well-placed protective weapons could be seen, and Tyr nodded in appreciation. A bunch of Betas the Völsung might have been, but they obviously were willing to defend their home against anyone or anything.

Two guards stepped forth to greet them, and Tyr blinked in confusion, fearing that something might be wrong with his eyes, causing him to see doubly. Then, after blinking a few more times, he realized what had caused his confusion.

The guards were twins, identical in everything from their smooth, bronze skin and waist-long, shiny ink-black hair through oval faces, almond eyes and long, slender limbs down to their leather and metal outfit and elegantly shaped, gleaming forearm spikes. They were androgynously beautiful, yet the way they moved revealed that they were also quick and deadly. There was no weakness in them, as one could find no weakness in a pair of slender, razor-sharp daggers, despite their size.

And yet one of them was male, the other female. Tyr needed a moment to decide which was which, for the breasts of the female warrior were small and flat, all softness trained ruthlessly away long ago, and the leather pants of her brother revealed similarly diminutive dimensions in other important areas.

There was something strange about them, something eerie, something Tyr couldn’t quite put his finger on. As if they’d guarded some sort of dark secret everyone knew but no one would be willing to speak of. They glanced at each other shortly, and Tyr had the strange impression that they were actually exchanging _thoughts_ – which was impossible. Nietzscheans were not a telepathic race.

“At least not usually,” the female warrior said, a voice indistinguishable from that of her brother who had just spoken the traditional greeting. “I’m sure Kaveh will explain it all to you. Welcome to the home of Völsung Pride – or what’s left of it. Follow me. The Matriarchs are awaiting you.”

Contrary to common belief, no Nietzschean Pride was ruled by _one_ Matriarch. Every bloodline, as various branches were divided, had its own Matriarch, and they made the important decisions together. Consensus, if not always necessary, was usually preferred, although the ranking Matriarch – the one from the oldest, strongest and most respected bloodline – had the final vote.

“How many of your Matriarchs survived?” Tyr asked Kaveh; he felt a little… uncomfortable addressing the twins directly. They were an unknown factor; he needed to learn more about them.

“Two,” the doctor replied. “Andraste, of course, and Parvati. The third line accepted Nemhain as their Matriarch, although she’s technically still too young. But she is a respected widow with a grown son, and she raised two orphaned boys aside from her own.”

Tyr nodded in appreciation. Obviously, the Völsung made good choices after the destruction of their old home, even without the leadership of an Alpha. Nevertheless, they _would_ need an Alpha if they wanted to be accepted in Nietzschean society again. And to father the children of their fertile women.

He glanced at the twins briefly again. They didn’t wear the traditional mark, at least not visibly, but their demeanour had the subtle traits of Omega warriors – an extremely rare position in these corrupted times, when serving one’s Pride unconditionally had long ceased to be a desirable and respected task. Maybe if he managed to rebuild Kodiak Pride, some of the time-honoured traditions would come back to life again.

Omega warriors were – or, to be more accurate, _had been_ , since they became almost extinct after the fall of the Commonwealth – the Nietzschean equivalent of the Sacred Band of Thebes in Ancient Greece, on Earth. With a considerable twist, of course. They were infertile warriors; mostly, but not exclusively male ones, bonded to their Pride Alpha, both by oath and sexually. They gave up their personal rights completely, dedicated their lives to the protection of their Pride and - usually but not necessarily - had a secondary bond to one of their fellow warriors. Again, usually, but not necessarily, to one of their own gender, as females were exceedingly rare among them.

They needed this dual bond, as their existence was a lonely one. They had no rank, no position, no family – just a purpose. They stood on the lowest level of their Pride – they only existed to protect the Pride and to serve their Pride Alpha, to whom they were more than lovers – and less than slaves.

And yet they had been highly respected for this position, which they had chosen voluntarily. Low their status might have been, it also had been unique. Although infertile males, otherwise considered as worthless, they had been highly valued by their Pride Alpha, and became part of his household.

“Who are they?” Tyr asked, glancing after the twins, who were already moving towards the inside of the house, their movements smooth, elegant, identical. “Or better, _what_ are they?”

“The result of a genetic experiment gone terribly wrong,” Kaveh replied grimly. “Near the end of our war with the Castalians, our losses were so high that Andraste ordered our best geneticists to stimulate twin births by splitting fertilized ova artificially. We hired a Perseid researcher who was said to be the best in this area. Unfortunately, the results were… less than satisfactory. The children either ended up as hermaphrodites and died soon after birth, or, in the case of Arjuna and Amritray, the male child had an additional X chromosome and the female one an additional Y chromosome, making them infertile and androgynous.”

Tyr frowned. “How is that possible?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Kaveh shrugged. “I was a very young researcher back then and had no part in this experiment. They say the Perseid kept his cards pretty close to his chest anyway. They also say that the other Matriarchs protested against this thing from the beginning, but Andraste and Parvati insisted on going through with the procedure. They saw it as our last, best hope. I don’t know if it’s true, though. I’m just a Beta; I have no right to question them. _You_ can do it – if you choose so.”

“Perhaps I will,” Tyr said noncommittally. “Can you get me more details about the experiment?” _What incompetent fools the Völsung geneticists were to damage excellent genetic material like this!_

“I can try,” Kaveh didn’t seem very convinced. “But be careful when dealing with the Matriarchs.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They entered the atrium of the house through a short corridor. Traditionally, the life of a planet-bound Nietzschean clan – which the shards of Völsung Pride had become – was centered in the atrium: a sparsely furnitshed, airy room, from which various doors led to the other parts of the house. This one was no exception, save perhaps its artistic value few Nietzschean homes displayed in these days. Even less so the ones in exile.

Tyr looked at the pathetic remains of his people with a strange mix of rage and pity. Out of seventy-five thousand, only a handful had survived; he could see about a dozen of them. He knew they would need his guidance and protection – he was an Alpha, and they had none. But he was also the last of the Kodiak, with an Orca wife – the irony was surely not lost on the three Matriarchs who were now looking at him with wary interest.

Andraste, the First Matriarch, alive by some sort of miracle (although not unharmed, if her deeply scarred face was any indication), was a tall, imposing woman of considerable age. She must have been in her mid-nineties, at the very least, but showed no sign of weakness. She had the same dark skin and amber eyes as Tyr himself, being related, however remotely, to Tyr’s maternal grandfather, Boëthius, and she used to have a reputation of being completely ruthless. That was fine with Tyr, since so was he. Her dark, elegant face wore deep scars and burn marks, the vivid reminders of the inferno she had miraculously survived when the orbital platform of Völsung Pride had been destroyed.

At her side, another elderly woman sat, this one of apparent Indian origins, just like the twins. She wore a traditional sari wrapped around her voluptuous body and gilded bracers to protect her forearm spikes that were ivory-coloured from age. Her iron-grey hair was twisted into a knot on the nape of her neck, and there was a red mark between her brows. Second Matriarch Parvati, then.

There was a tall, valkyrie-like woman with greying red hair, sitting a little aside. Middle-aged, with green, intelligent eyes and a round, freckled face. Nemhain, most likely, the widow with the son and the other two boys she had fostered. The one still too young to be a Matriarch, but accepted nevertheless, out of sheer need. It seemed to be a good choice, though. She looked like she could have made her mythological namesake proud.

A couple of elderly males and very young boys were sitting in the background, half-hidden in the shadows. Probably concerned Betas who didn’t want to pick a fight with the big, hulking Alpha visiting their home.

As Tyr entered the atrium in Kaveh’s company (the twins placed themselves on both sides of the door), the Matriarchs rose from their seats. Tyr bowed in an emphatically ceremonial manner, yet not too low. Technically, even as an Alpha without a Pride, he still stood higher than a bunch of widows and scattered Betas.

“I offer you my respect, venerable Matriarchs,” he said in the most formal manner, to signalize the serenity of his intents. “I have been looking for you for a long time and am now content that my long search had not gone without fruition.”

Andraste raised and eyebrow, but her scarred face remained carefully blank while eyeing Tyr’s face with suspicion.

“Who are you?” She asked in a deep, cold voice. “How have you found us and what do you want from us?”

Those were ritual words, of course, as Andraste had known Tyr’s identity for years, even though she chose not to acknowledge it. When a prideless Alpha wanted to claim a Pride that had no male leader, he had to prove his worth to the Matriarchs – who usually didn’t make it easy for him.

“I’m Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa, the last of Kodiak Pride and husband to Freya Cree,” Tyr answered calmly. He wished he had children already, to prove his fertility, but that was still months away. “I found you by having a human… acquaintance break into the secret archives of the Castalian government and tracing down your escape route. And I’m here to offer you – all of you – an alliance.”

“I assume you can prove your identity,” Andraste said. Tyr nodded.

“Of course. A simple genetic test would, no doubt, prove that I am, indeed, whom I claim to be. Kaveh can give you the proof. I have nothing to hide from my own people… well, _almost_ nothing,” he added with a wolfish grin. The Matriarch gave him a cold smile.

“We’ll see. I prefer to do my own investigations. And what kind of alliance are you offering – assuming, of course, that you _are_ who you say you are.”

“I’m about to re-claim my birthright,” Tyr answered slowly, carefully, not wanting to lay all his cards openly on the table just yet. “I’m working on rebuilding Kodiak Pride, as the first step. So far, I only have one wife and no child yet, but I’m an Alpha. You might not be Kodiak, but you are the closest thing I can ever hope to find. I offer you the chance to join the new Kodiak Pride.”

“And why would we want to do that?” the Matriarch replied coldly. “You are but one man, living among _kludge_ s. We are twenty-two people still. If anything, _you_ should join Völsung Pride.”

“Völsung Pride doesn’t exist,” Tyr said bluntly. “You don’t have an Alpha; you don’t even have any fertile adult males left, not even Betas. It would take a decade for your youngsters to grow strong enough to lead – if ever. But you have three fertile females in the best age of childbearing, or so that healer of yours says. If they choose me as their husband, we’d become a small but strong Pride in a decade.”

“If you are such a prize, how come that you are still not a father?” Parvati, the Second Matriarch, asked with deceptive softness. Tyr shrugged.

“My First Wife is currently pregnant,” he replied, “but even a Kodiak child needs the usual time of gestation. I’ll be a father in a few months. _And_ I’ve been offered an alliance by Sabran Alpha Ezekial El-Hakim, the leader of the Centauris A colony, by the hand of his daughter, Mikaelan. I’m no beggar on your doorstep – I have more to offer than just my genes, excellent though they might be.”

The three Matriarchs exchanged meaningful looks. Getting allied with the last of the ruling family of Kodiak Pride was one thing. Getting allied with the powerful and respected Sabran cadet line on Centauris A, however indirectly, a different one.

“What do you think, Nemhain?” Andraste asked.

The red-haired valkyrie hesitated for a moment; then she shrugged.

“He is right, you know,” she said. “The oldest fertile male among us is Ferdiad – my son,” she added for Tyr who couldn’t know that, “and even he is barely more than a child. If our young females choose husbands from other Prides, Völsung Pride will cease to exist.”

“So will it when we merge with Kodiak Pride willingly,” Andraste pointed out. “What’s the difference?”

“The fact that we _come_ from Kodiak Pride,” Nemhain replied simply. “Returning to our origins is not the same as giving up our identity. Not in my eyes. But you are the First Matriarch; the decision is yours. I’ll follow you, and so will the boys, whatever path you choose. As for our young females… I cannot tell.” She gave Tyr an appreciating look. “If his genes are as excellent as his looks, they couldn’t find anyone better suited. They might choose him above you.”

That was all too true, and they knew that – all of them. Nietzschean women always tried to find a male with the best genetic value to father their children. If said male was of a good bloodline and of good looks, that was an added bonus. Excellent survival skills were another one. Tyr knew he could offer all that – and more. His reputation spoke for itself; so would his genes. He was confident about not only catching the young women’s eye but to persuade the Matriarch of his genetic value. Which was the complicated part of the business, of course.

Andraste glanced at one of the men sitting in the background – a greying, dark-skinned man who bore a striking resemblance to her.

“Speak your mind, Amfortas. You used to be our Pride Alpha.”

The man, almost as big as Tyr himself but missing a leg and obviously having difficulties using one of his hands, shook his head bitterly.

“I’m nothing but a crippled old man, mother. I have no right to speak for our Pride any longer. Nor do I want to interfere with your decisions.”

Andraste seemed affronted by this rejection, but before she could have said anything, another man rose from his seat. He was somewhat younger and obviously from the Indian bloodline: less heavily muscled, but still strong and limber, his dark, almond eyes gleaming with annoyance.

“It is I whom you should have asked for opinions, First Matriarch,” he said in a deceivingly soft voice. “Just a Beta I might be, but right now, I’m the only husband and father in what is left of Völsung Pride.”

“You forget your place, Shakuni,” Parvati warned him sternly. But the man didn’t back off.

“On the contrary, my lady, I think I’m just about to find my right place,” he replied. “You have shunned me long enough,” Then, turning to Tyr, he said. “I cannot speak for the rest of my bloodline, but I for my part would gladly join the new Kodiak Pride, with my wife and my sons.“

“And who, exactly, would you be?” Tyr asked. The Beta’s mannerism spoke of a skilled warrior, but there was obviously more to him than just weapons skills.

“I’m Shakuni,” the Beta answered. “Shakuni Mohasai, out of Draupadí by Laksmana. Husband to Indira, father of Ravana and Drupada. I used to be the chief assassin of Völsung Pride. In the exile, I’ve become a scholar and a philosopher, although I still help training our youth.”

“The chief assassin of the Pride? A Beta?” Tyr, having close knowledge about the requirements of an assassination job, was more than a little surprised.

Shakuni shrugged. “My genetic value is barely behind that of an Alpha… and I’ve worked very hard on my skills. Besides, a mere Beta is always less suspicious – which can come handy in my job, as you doubtlessly know. I’ve heard of you, Tyr Anasazi. I know what you are capable of. It would be an honour to be allied to you.”

“I accept your offer,” Tyr said, “although I would prefer not to tear the rest of the Pride apart. But that decision is not mine to make.”

The matriarchs exchanged concerned looks. They knew, others might follow the former assassin’s lead – the decision could easily slip from their hands. The Pride couldn’t remain without an Alpha forever. Even if they rejected Tyr’s claim, sooner or later they’d have to accept _someone_ , or else their bloodline would degenerate way below Beta material.

“Show us the proof,” Andraste ordered Kaveh in a regal manner, the purpose of which was most likely to hide her anxiety. “We’ll hold council about this among ourselves.”

Kaveh handed her the results of Tyr’s recent genetic test, and the three Matriarchs left the atrium. Tyr looked after them with a frown.

“They don’t seem too receptive, do they?” he asked the Völsung doctor.

Kaveh shrugged. “It went better than I accepted, actually. Be patient. This situation requires a great deal of adjustment from their side. They are used to _leading_. Now you’re asking them to accept your leadership, for the good of our people. This is about stepping down from one’s power – and that is never an easy step.”


	12. Oaths, Alliances and the Foundation of a Better Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr takes new wives and negotiates a possible Omega bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Atreides is not borrowed from Dune. In fact, it was a name for the progeny of Atreus in Greek mythology – a family whose members were damned to kill each other.
> 
> The status of the Omega warrior is based on the place of an Omega wolf in the pack. The Sacred Band of Thebes was a real institution in ancient times.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 11 - Oaths, Alliances and the Foundation of a Better Future**

While they were waiting for the Matriarchs to make a decision, Kaveh introduced the others to Tyr. Aside from Amfortas and Shakuni, there were two other adult males, both from the Greek bloodline.

Paris Atreides, the security chief of the Völsung compound, had become infertile due to hard radiation during the destruction, just like Kaveh, and therefore lost his former Alpha status. His brother, Hector, was fertile, but barely Beta material, so the women hadn’t chosen him for breeding. He worked at Haukin Vora spaceport, at the docks – not the sort of work any Nietzschean would wish for himself, but one that at least earned some money for his family. Aspasia, Paris’ wife, shared her husband’s infertility because of grave injuries she had suffered at the destruction, in which they had also lost their only child. From this family, Völsung Pride could not hope for any children.

The only other mature adult present was Indira Mohasai, Shakuni’s wife. All the others were under thirty, way too young in Völsung – and Kodiak – terms to be chosen for mating. Both Prides preferred partners that were in their prime when breeding.

But it was the twins who fascinated Tyr beyond anything else in the compound. There was a certain… potential that he could put to good use, if he played his cards well.

“Tell me more about them,” he demanded from Kaveh.

“There isn’t much to tell,” the doctor replied with a shrug. “Their parents, Ahalija and Muruhan, both came from highly respected families. In fact, Muruhan Ravanashwar used to be the Second Alpha of their bloodline, and Ahalija was considered the second Isis Khmer. That’s why their marriage had been arranged, and why their child, an unborn boy, had been chosen for this… experiment in the first place. The idea was to split the fertilized ova inside the uterus of the mother, and so achieve _two_ extraordinary children instead of one son.”

Tyr nodded. The idea itself was sound, and genetic manipulation had always been an important factor in the evolution of the Nietzschean race.

What went wrong?” he asked.

“We don’t know,” Kaveh admitted. “The Perseid geneticist used a new procedure, unknown to us all. And after the… results, he vanished without a trace. I’ve been trying to hunt him down ever since - so far no luck.”

Tyr glanced at the two young warriors, standing left and right from the door, their smooth, beautiful faces unmoved like bronze masks.

“Whom do they belong?” he asked, as it was obvious that they couldn’t have been accepted as full members of the Pride. Kaveh shrugged again. He seemed to do that a lot, probably having become fatalistic after all that he’d been through.

“No one,” he said. “Officially, they’re not even _counted_ among the Völsung survivors. Their biological bloodline considers them _pariahs_ , and since they are not acknowledged by their own people, they have no family, no rights… nothing.”

“How have they managed to receive such an excellent training, then?” Tyr asked. “I can feel that they are deadly warriors. Their stance, the way they move - all those are signs of natural born fighters. But they must have had good training, too.”

“I think Shakuni originally decided to train them to anger Parvati,” Kaveh said with a humourless grin. “He _could_ have been accepted as an Alpha, had Parvati been just a little lenient… his genes are really good. But Parvati didn’t want any competitors for her sons, and so Shakuni had to accept Beta status. He never forgave Parvati for that, and has tried to challenge her authority ever since. The twins responded well to his care, of course. Small wonder - nobody else ever admitted their mere existence.”

“And yet they remain here and protect this place?” Tyr shook his head in amazement.

“They don’t really have any other choice,” Kaveh said. “No other Pride would ever accept them; they are abomination, neither male, nor female. Amritray has no ovaries, and Arjuna isn’t even able to grow a beard – not to mention other shortcomings.”

“And yet they could play a pivotal role in the history of our people,” Tyr said thoughtfully. “Are they both telepathic, or just the female?”

“They can read unguarded thoughts and strong emotions emanated by others,” Kaveh explained, “but they only can speak mind to mind with each other. It was an unexpected side effect.”

“It is still a very useful skill,” Tyr said slowly. Kaveh shot him a suspicious look.

“What do you have on your mind?”

“I was wondering, whether they’d be willing to take the Omega oath,” Tyr replied. 

Kaveh’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’d be willing to accept them?”

“Why not?” It was now Tyr’s turn to shrug. “If Shakuni trained them, they must be better than good; assassins are rather meticulous in that area. I need them for my further plans, and to protect my family aboard the _Andromeda_. They need a purpose. The arrangement would be mutually beneficial. The question is: would they see the advantage of it?”

“I don’t have the answer to that,” Kaveh said, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask them.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Tyr said, “as soon as the Matriarchs have announced their decision.”

“In that case,” Kaveh replied, “you won’t have to wait much longer.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Following his glance, Tyr saw the three Matriarchs entering the atrium again… but not alone. They were accompanied by three other women, all considerably younger than them. The potential wives, most likely.

“That’s promising,” Kaveh commented softly. “They’ve brought the brides. Your chances stand good.”

“Can you tell me something about them?” Tyr asked.

The doctor nodded. “Of course. The redhead is Derdriu; she’s the oldest among them. A botanist and bio-engineer by trade, she works on breeding edible plants that can be grown on the tundra. The dark-haired one with the pale face is Finnabair. She has a degree in computer sciences and works for the local administration. The third one is Ayeshwariam, Parvati’s granddaughter.”

“She looks awfully young,” Tyr said, eyeing the round, child-like face in concern. Kaveh nodded.

“Barely nineteen. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be allowed to breed for another six to ten years, depending on personal maturity. But these are _not_ normal circumstances for our people. If Kodiak or Völsung, the Pride needs children with good genes. Desperately.”

Their whispered conversation was interrupted by the First Matriarch, who turned to Tyr, without taking her seat again.

“We, the Matriarchs of Völsung Pride, have decided to allow you to display for the young females of our Pride, Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa,” she announced in the most formal manner. “If they decide to choose you as their husband, there will be an alliance between Völsung Pride and the new Kodiak Pride. However, we wish to keep our independence. We won’t hinder Shakuni, or anyone who wants to follow you, in doing so. But we won’t give up our Pride completely.”

Tyr inclined his head in respect. This was a minor throwback in his long-term plans; besides, it still gave him the opportunity to gain what he wanted from Völsung Pride most: wives from his own blood.

“I understand and accept your decision,” he said formally; then he turned to the young women and added in the same manner. “Ladies, my time here is limited, not by my own choice. If you wish to do this, we must do it hurriedly. How do you want me to display for you?”

“We want to talk to you – in private,” Derdriu, the redhead, who had some faint similarity to Third Matriarch Nemhain, said. “And we want to see your fighting skills with our own eyes before we decide.”

“That’s doable,” Tyr smiled, “if Shakuni is willing to participate, that is.”

The former assassin nodded, a fine smile playing on his smooth face. “Of course. Trying my skills against your greater strength would be a worthy challenge.”

“For me, too,” Tyr said with a wolfish grin, welcoming the chance to spar with someone of his own abilities. “When and where?”

“It’s rather late already,” Shakuni glanced at the darkening window. “You won’t offer a good display without real sunlight. What about tomorrow morning? We have our daily training at 0800, local time. Would that suffice?” he asked, not of Tyr, but of the three women.

They nodded in unison, and Derdriu, who seemed to speak for the other two as well, said, “We shall speak with you _after_ the display, Tyr Anasazi.”

With that, the potential wives withdrew, and the Matriarchs dismissed Tyr, asking Aspasia to show him to the guest room.

“Follow me,” Aspasia said to Tyr, choosing a door on the right side of the atrium and leading him out.

She was a tall, imposing woman with curly dark hair that she wore in a low knot on the nape of her neck. Her face still bore the burn marks and other scars from the injuries she had suffered during the destruction. Still, she had the natural grace and authority of a born Matriarch – something she’d never be able to become, due to her lost ability to bear children. But she carried her fate with great dignity, and Tyr couldn’t help feeling respect for her. If this was the norm in Völsung Pride, he was looking forward to know his potential wives better.

“We have prepared your old rooms, too,” Aspasia said, addressing Kaveh. “It’s been too long since you visited our home. It’s your home as well, you know.”

“Is it?” Kaveh replied with a mirthless grin. “I’m alone – the last one of an extinct, minor bloodline. I cannot contribute to the survival of the Pride, either. So, what use could I possibly have for the Matriarchs?”

“You might be alone,” Aspasia said, “but you did our bloodline great service by saving and raising Hermes and Achilles when we were unable to do so ourselves. You’ll always have a place among us. I may not have the right to speak as a Matriarch, but I still _am_ the oldest – well, the only – female of our bloodline. Even now, I can offer you that place.”

“Why haven’t you done so before?” Kaveh asked.

“You never expressed any desire to belong to us,” Aspasia said simply. “But the future of our bloodline lies in your hands. With the boys you’ve raised. By their rights, you _are_ one of us – you just never asked to make it official.”

“I didn’t even know such an opportunity existed at all,” Kaveh admitted.

Aspasia shrugged. “It’s a very old custom, most people are unaware of its existence. But we must use every tool tradition offers us to ensure our Pride’s survival. And it seems that with your arrival, Kodiak,” she added, turning briefly to Tyr, “Völsung Pride might get a chance to actually _have_ a future.”

She stopped in front of a heavy door and handed Tyr a small code card. “Your key. We might seem a little paranoid in your eyes, but Castalian agents _have_ tried to infiltrate our compound before. The card reacts to your DNA only and will destroy itself after two days of disuse. After it has self-destructed, the guest rooms become accessible again.”

“That’s a clever design,” Tyr said in appreciation. _Harper would love to play around with something like that, but I very much doubt the Völsung would share._

Aspasia smiled. “Finnabair is highly talented. She’s developed the entire security system of our compound. Since we established it, no one has been able to penetrate our defences.”

Tyr whistled softly. If one of his future wives had so highly developed computer skills, he’d have to do everything in his power to woo her. A computer wizard of such scale could be immensely useful for his long-term plans, aside from bearing his children.

“I’m looking forward to know her better,” he said, and Aspasia grinned broadly.

She and Kaveh wished him a restful night and left him alone in the sparsely but comfortably furnished guest room. Tyr placed his duffel bag next to the bed and checked the comm unit. Andraste would probably have his communications recorded, but at the moment he didn’t really care. He needed to talk to Ferahr, and the topic wasn’t one he’d have to keep secret.

The artificial day on Haukin Tau Drift matched the natural one on Haukin Vora, which meant that the Drift had begun its night period as well. Ferahr was accordingly annoyed about the disturbance.

“Do you Niets never sleep?” he asked morosely. “Well, we mere humans do, especially at my moderate age. Could it not have waited till tomorrow?”

“No,” Tyr replied, completely unfazed. He didn’t offer any explanation.

Ferahr rolled his eyes. “Right, why do I even ask? I should know better by now. What’s it this time?”

“I want you to send a message for me to the _Andromeda_ ,” Tyr said. “I might have a few others for you tomorrow – it depends on how things will develop here in the morning.”

Ferahr’s small eyes began to sparkle with interest. He knew what Tyr was doing on the planet, and he was actually crossing his fingers for success. Strange as it would sound to other Nietzscheans, their friendship was as genuine as it could be, given their differences.

“What are the ladies like?” he asked.

“Promising,” Tyr replied neutrally, always considering the possibility that Andraste or one of her aides listened. “I’m testing various possibilities here. I’ll tell you about it in person.” Not _everything_ , of course. But more than he’d tell anyone else, with the exception of Freya.

“I can’t wait,” Ferahr grinned. “Well, transfer that message of yours.”

“I already have. Freya wanted a daily update.”

“Hmmm, I see. Luckily for you, there also seem to be two brand new letters, just coming in _from_ the _Andromeda_. Can I send them to the comm station you are speaking from?”

“Of course,” Tyr was intrigued. One of the messages would be from Freya, but the other? He waited for the transfer to be completed and read with surprise Harper’s name in the ‘Sender’ field. What would the little professor want from him? “I got them, Ferahr. Anything else?”

“A piece of good news and a piece of bad news,” Ferahr replied. “The good ones first: I think I’ve found a ship for you.”

“Really?” Tyr’s brows climbed up to his hairline. “That was fast.”

“Well, yeah, a bit of luck, actually,” Ferahr admitted. “It’s a cargo ship, as you wanted. A bit bigger that the rustbin you’ve arrived with, but still very fast. It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but the Perseid who used to run the engine room had done a damn fine job. The ship has very few of its original parts, and every change is an upgrade.”

“Sounds like the _Maru_ ,” Tyr commented. Ferahr nodded.

“With the exception that it was a Perseid design to begin with – and a damn good one at that. Belonged to a Nightsider who made the mistake to piss off some Drago-Kazov thugs. The ship has suffered extensive damage, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed, given enough time and the right engineer. Should I put a bid on it? In its current state it’d be a bargain to get it.”

Tyr frowned. “I need to check first in what shape it really is.”

“No, you don’t,” Ferahr said. “I have the tip from that Perseid dockmaster on Meitner Drift – guy’s never wrong, and he’s never cheated me. If he says the ship is worth its price and some more, then it is.”

Tyr hesitated for a moment. He did remember the Perseid in question: a friendly chinhead with a great deal of respect for Harper’s abilities. A man who liked ships and understood his job. Well, if Ferahr thought he was reliable…

“Very well,” he said. “When can I get it?”

“That’s the bad news,” Ferahr admitted. “The thing needs to be towed in; engine failure. Then it needs to undergo a great deal of repair… it can take weeks, probably even longer.”

“If it’s really as good as you told me, it doesn’t matter,” Tyr said. “I want to purchase it _before_ it gets fixed, do you understand? And have it brought to the Spaceport here, so that my people can take care of the repairs.”

“Understood,” Ferahr punched a few commands into his work log. “Anything else?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll contact you when something comes up.”

“Am I not a lucky man?” Ferahr commented sarcastically and broke the connection.

Tyr grinned. He genuinely liked the obnoxious human, which he would never admit, of course. But Ferahr was a delightful person to deal with – and extremely useful.

He turned his attention to his two letters. As assumed, the first one was from Freya, telling him that he’d been contacted by Ezekial El-Hakim again, and that the Sabran Alpha had addressed the issue of his marriage with Mikaelan.

“I told him you were off, negotiating several possible alliances,” she said with a grin. “That made him a little… agitated, insisting that his daughter become Second Wife status, regardless of how many other wives you might acquire.” She became serious. “I agree with him, Tyr. He’s a much more powerful ally than your own people can ever hope to become, it wouldn’t be a good idea to antagonize him. Cementing _this_ alliance should be your first priority, as soon as you return.” She paused again, a slightly sad smile ghosting over her face. “I hope you won’t take much longer. I miss you. Freya out.”

Tyr pondered a little over his wife’s message. He knew Freya was right. The alliance with the leader of the Centauris A colony was, logically, the most important one. He’d allowed himself more sentimentality when it came to the Völsung than he should have. Still, they were his blood – and they could help him establish his own Pride, with some of the Kodiak blood saved from complete extinction.

He shook his head and switched to Harper’s message. It was a very brief one, delivered in the cocky engineer’s usual snarky style.

“Hi, Big Guy,” Harper greeted him brightly. “I hope you have a grand old time with all those hot Niet babes. By your luck, you can take your time and have fun. Negotiations at Nindalph went straight to Hell, as expected, and we’re on our way to Ornithrone to pick up Trance and the Makra. Dylan is fuming because her purpleness didn’t ask nicely before she hopped planets with Catwoman, but we others are really enjoying the peace. Meet you in two weeks at Ornithrone. Harper out.”

Tyr contemplated the unexpected news for a while. Actually, they served his purposes rather well. In two weeks, he could even arrange a visit on Centauris A and get the alliance with the Sabra all wrapped up. He’d have preferred Freya to be present at his wedding with Mikaelan, but Freya had already approved of the person of his future Second Wife, so it was doable. He’d require a written approval from Freya, of course. But that could be organized tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow will be an important day_ , Tyr thought, as he stripped and walked into the shower cubicle. _Probably the very foundation of the new Kodiak Pride. I just hope the Völsung females will be reasonable enough to see why I’ll have to give Mikaelan El-Hakim a higher status._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Two hours after the local sunrise – considering the fact that Haukin Vora had a twenty-hour day – all resident members of Völsung Pride were gathered around one of the smaller training areas in the courtyard to watch what promised to be the performance of the year: the fight of Tyr and Shakuni, both stripped to the waist, wearing only boots and skin-tight leather pants. They were armed with a large knife each, their long hair bound on the nape of their necks to keep it out of their faces. Both offered a gorgeous sight. Shakuni was smaller and more slender, but quick like a striking cobra, while Tyr could have been the living proof that Kodiak Pride had, indeed, bred for physical perfection.

The duel had been going on for quite some time. No blood had been drawn so far, but their upper bodies, one mahogany and one bronze, were slick with sweat, glistening most alluringly in the reddish light of the raising sun. They were circling each other warily. Nietzscheans didn’t put up mock fights, not even for the sake of a display, so they’d pay for every mistake they made a bloody price. It was greater strength against greater speed, and the outcome by no means certain. Tyr had to win this particular duel if he wanted the three women to choose him, but he knew Shakuni wouldn’t make it easy for him.

His greater body mass, a definite advantage in a short fight, could become disadvantageous in a longer one, so he had to end it as quickly as possible. With that goal before his eyes, he thrust at Shakuni with his knife again, but the former assassin’s battle instincts worked flawlessly. He raised an arm to defend himself in time. He parried Tyr’s strike with ease, and extending his forearm spikes, he slashed at the Kodiak’s throat. It was not a mere tactical move – he _would_ have cut Tyr’s throat, given the opportunity. The whole reason of this duel was to display the Kodiak’s fighting skills – losing would have proved him unworthy.

Tyr parried as well, their spikes interlocking. For a moment, they stood frozen, testing each other’s strength, then Tyr forced their arms downward. Shakuni saw the move coming, of course, but was unable to fight against it – the Kodiak was simply too strong.

Flexing his arm, Tyr sent his opponent stumbling to the ground. The former assassin tried to spring back to his feet and almost managed to do so, but was just a heartbeat late. Tyr leapt down onto his back, holding him in place with his bent knees pressing against Shakuni’s ribcage, cutting off his breathing. Shakuni made a feeble attempt to slash the bigger man with his forearm spikes, but from this angle and without any leverage, all he could achieve was to scrap them along Tyr’s biceps.

Tyr laughed, ignoring the hot pain, caused by the bloody scratches. He’d won, and they both knew that.

“Do you yield?” he asked, breathing heavily. Shakuni had put up a good fight indeed. He had enjoyed himself enormously.

“I yield,” Shakuni gasped, but he was laughing breathlessly. “It was an honour to fight you, my lord.”

Tyr let go of him and extended a hand to help him up. Tactically, that was unwise, as Shakuni could have easily overwhelmed him, but the former assassin had just given him the honorary title, formally accepting him as his Pride leader. He didn’t need to worry about Shakuni any longer. Not as long as their interests didn’t clash, that is.

The three potential brides were watching them with avid interest.

“He’s good,” Derdriu murmured in appreciation. “I’ve never seen anyone best Shakuni before.”

“He’s gorgeous,” Ayeshwariam whispered dreamily, with all the admiration of the inexperienced youth. “See those pectorals, those big arms… and his calf muscles are excellent, too.”

“A well-honed body is a good thing – but not enough,” Finnabair commented softly. “We should speak with him now.”

“Agreed,” Derdriu said. “Let’s invite him to share breakfast with us. Relaxed settings are always better for important negotiations.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The others cleared the atrium, so that they’d be able to talk undisturbed. Someone had already decked the table, placing bowls of fruit, a pitcher with cups and various sorts of healthy and nutritious food that still could be eaten with one’s fingers on it. The women were sitting in wide, low armchairs at the table, not even touching the food yet.

Tyr was offered a seat opposite them, within the zone of kinship but outside that of intimacy. He watched them with interest, getting his first really good eyeful of them. Derdriu was tall and voluptuous, with a flaring mane of red hair, a freckled face and keen, intelligent sea-green eyes. Finnabair, somewhat shorter and younger, had very pale, almost translucent skin, chestnut hair and a slender built. She looked like someone who didn’t trust easily – an admirable trait. Ayeshwariam, still barely beyond childhood, reminded him of ancient Indian reliefs: round-faced and almond-eyed, with midnight black hair, bronze skin, and very pleasantly rounded in all the right places.

To the neutral eye, they were very average Nietzschean women, the likes of whom one could find in every Pride where the Matriarchs took care of proper breeding. To Tyr, they were beautiful, all three of them, each on her own way. But they were more than just beautiful. They were the future of Kodiak Pride. They were his blood.

“Sit,” Derdriu ordered, acting as their spokesperson, as someone used to be obeyed. For the time being, Tyr was willing to cooperate - he needed them as much as they needed him.

“Kaveh said you prefer blunt speech,” Derdriu continued, “which is a fortunate thing, since so do I. As you can see, neither I nor Finnabair are inexperienced child brides. We’ve both had our share of lovers, although we have not yet chosen a husband. Yet time won’t stand still for us; and we do want children.”

“Children only, or a full marriage as well?” Tyr asked. Either option was free for the women to choose.

“We want to marry you,” Derdriu replied matter-of-factly. “Your genes are excellent, and you are worthy. The children you’d father would be strong, beautiful and intelligent. They would help us to re-build the Pride.”

“Which Pride?” Tyr asked slowly. “Völsung or Kodiak – or both?”

“That is the question,” Derdriu admitted. “If we marry you, we’d belong to Kodiak Pride and be lost from our own. But Völsung Pride needs fertile women, too, or it would become extinct. So we decided that Ayeshwariam would _not_ marry you, at least not right away, so that _her_ child would strengthen Völsung Pride. It is only proper. Besides, she’s still too young to leave her only family.”

“Things would be a lot less complicated, had the Matriarch agreed about the fusion,” Tyr growled, not liking the idea of giving any child of his away.

“That’s true,” Derdriu nodded. “But I’m sure you can understand that we don’t want to give up our identity entirely.”

“I do understand,” Tyr sighed, “but I don’t have to like it, do I?”

That earned him the first smiles from his future wives.

“Of course not, “Finnabair answered softly. “It’s enough that you accept it. Just as we have to accept that you have other obligations: to your First Wife; to your promised bride, whose person would cement the alliance with the Sabra branch on Centauris A…”

Tyr shook his head in amusement. “So you _did_ monitor my communications last night?”

“Of course,” Derdriu said calmly. “Would you expect anything less?”

“Certainly not,” Tyr grinned, starting to like these determined women. “In that case you must also know that I cannot live here with you as a husband and father. I cannot help you raise the children I’ll father… unless you follow me to the _Andromeda_.”

“We’ve discussed that possibility,” Derdriu replied. “For the time being, however, we’d prefer to stay here. There are Castalians on board that ship of yours, whom we don’t trust. And it might be better for the survival chances of the new Kodiak Pride if not all your wives and children lived on the same spot. At least not until you have a safe enough haven for us all.”

“I agree,” Tyr said slowly. It made abundant sense, and it also showed that his future wives had given the situation a great deal of thought – which was commendable. “Although I must admit that the _Andromeda_ isn’t _my_ ship. Not yet,” he added, with a glance at Finnabair. “I’ve heard of your skills, lady mine. I might have need of them one day.”

Their eyes met, and the two women broke out in identical, feral grins of understanding. Only Ayeshwariam seemed completely clueless, glancing from one another in honest confusion.

“It seems that we have come to an understanding,” Derdriu declared. “Now let’s discuss the technicalities. How long can you stay?”

“I have to meet the _Andromeda_ at Ornithrone in a little less than two weeks’ time,” Tyr said. “But I’ll have to squeeze in a visit at Centauris A, which is, unfortunately, in a different direction.”

Derdriu looked at Finnabair, who made quick calculations in hes head – an impressive performance at a time when everyone had long become dependant on computers. In his whole life Tyr had only seen Harper doing the same before.

“That would leave you with two days for each of us,” Finnabair finally announced. “Time enough for the wedding _and_ for us to catch a child.”

“The wedding has to wait till my return,” Tyr said, a little uncomfortably. “As you know, Ezekial El-Hakim insists on his daughter having Second Wife status, and I am in no position to deny his wish.”

“Of course,” Derdriu nodded nonchalantly. “We are aware of that. It doesn’t matter. You need this alliance – we _all_ need it. Let her be Second Wife. We are still _blood_.”

“You are,” Tyr agreed, “and you’ll always be. Now, we have six days to do this. When and where would you like to begin?”

Apparently, the women had already come to a consensus in that matter, too.

“I shall be the first,” Derdriu said, “as I am the eldest. Finnabair will follow, and Ayeshwariam will come last, so that we’ll be able to instruct her, based on our experiences with you.”

Tyr nodded in agreement. Again, what she said made sense.

“When and where?” he repeated.

Derdriu rose, walked over to him and slid an inquiring hand down his bare shoulders and chest.

“Right away,” she answered, “in my room. We’ll have the food transferred there to strengthen ourselves, if necessary.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr spent the next five and half days in the respective bedrooms of his newly acquired wives – for wives they were, even though they had to prolong the wedding after his return from Centauris A, and Ayeshwariam’s even longer. He only left for his morning run and the daily workout with Shakuni. The former assassin kept an eye on him, seeing that he exercised every muscle thoroughly, and so would be able to perform in his wives’ beds properly. Sometimes Tyr had the feeling that he’d been transferred back in time, under the stern surveillance of his father’s armsmaster.

His wives displayed tempers that were as different as their looks. Lying with Derdriu was like resting in the shadow of a great tree – alluring, relaxing and comforting. Finnabair turned out as fierce and demanding as she seemed cool and distant to the casual eye – quite the surprise, and not an unpleasant one. Ayeshwariam, finally, was sweet and clinging like a leech… and, despite her youth and relative inexperience, stunningly skilled in the arts of lovemaking. As Kaveh later revealed, members of her bloodline, both males and females, were trained in the ancient techniques of the Kama Sutra from a rather young age on.

Tyr didn’t spare his strength, giving his wives everything they wanted, everything he had to give. And on the sixth day it was joyously announced that all three of them have caught, indeed. Unlike human women, Nietzscheans could discern pregnancy less than a day after the act. It was still way too early for in-vitro scans to ascertain the children’s gender, but Tyr didn’t really care if they were male or female. The important thing was now that his bloodline would continue. Whether Kodiak or Völsung, these children – just like Freya’s unborn son – would bear the stamp of his proud Kodiak heritage.

He was due to leave in the next morning; the _Maru_ checked for departure, his duffel bag packed, as his return would be a brief one. But before he left, there was one more thing for him to take care of.

He found the twins in one of the training areas, where they were practicing knife fight, displaying the same lightning speed and deadly elegance as Shakuni, with the additional limberness of their youth. They were beautiful to look upon – but, sadly, completely useless for the re-building of their Pride. Or so most of the Völsung thought. Tyr was about to prove those people wrong.

“Stop this for a moment,” he said to the young warriors. “I need to speak with you – somewhere private. And I mean _really_ private.”

The two exchanged a look, then moved in unison, leading him to the surveillance room of Paris Atreides, where all the cameras were switched to automatic work.

“The only room without surveillance I know of,” Arjuna, the brother, said. “Aside from the bedrooms, of course, but you won’t want to be seen _there_ with us, I presume.”

“Probably not,” Tyr agreed, “at least not right now. But that can change.”

They gave him puzzled looks, and again, it was Arjuna who spoke for them both. “We do not understand.”

“Before I tell you more, I need to now whether you have any oaths of loyalty that would bind you to anyone in Völsung Pride,” Tyr said. They shook their heads.

“We’re not wanted here,” Arjuna said. “We’re the shame of our line become flesh. We are abomination – barely tolerated.”

He spoke these words, the worst judgement any Nietzschean could ever be subjected to, matter-of-factly, without the slightest overtone of self-pity. He’d apparently been indoctrinated very thoroughly.

“That’s unfortunate for you,” Tyr said, “but Völsung Pride’s loss can become my gain. I have need of you. Both of you.”

They stared at him in such profound disbelief that it would have been comical, had Tyr not known that their entire life had been nothing else but the living proof of how useless and unwanted they were. That someone – and a powerful and respectable Alpha, the last sprout of the leading family of the mother Pride at that – would want them for _anything_ , was beyond their comprehension.

“What use could we possible be for you, my lord?” Arjuna asked, slipping into casual mode from the sheer shock of it.

“I live on a ship among strangers with my First Wife and unborn son,” Tyr replied. “My quest is such that I often must leave them behind, without protection. I want you to accompany me aboard the _Andromeda Ascendant_ and guard my family in my absence.”

The twins seemed to have a mind-to-mind conversation, their smooth, beautiful faces unreadable.

“But my lord,” Arjuna said, “you’re about to rebuild Kodiak Pride. We’ll never be accepted as a rightful member of your Pride. We’d be a liability for you, should you take us into your household.”

“There is a way,” Tyr said. “An ancient and half-forgotten way, but a legal one nevertheless. Have you ever heard of the Omega oath?”

They shook their heads simultaneously. Tyr frowned in displease.

“Education in Völsung Pride doesn’t seem to be what it used to,” he growled. “Have you at the very least heard of the Sacred Band of Thebes?”

 _That_ name apparently rang a bell.

“The old Matriarch of the Atreides family, Clytemnestra, told us about it,” Arjuna said. "They were a hundred and fifty pairs of bonded male lovers; fierce warriors, dedicated to protect their city and their king.”

“It was believed that the strong bond between lovers would cause them to fight even more fiercely than an army of one's family or tribe,” Amritray, his sister, added; even their voices were completely similar. “And that a warrior would rather die in battle than disgrace his lover. They fought valiantly and fiercely in battle for nearly thirty-three years, until finally defeated by Phillippos of Macedonia and his son, Alexander the Great, at the battle of Chaeronea.”

It sounded like a quote, like something they had learned by heart during childhood. Tyr nodded.

“You have learned your lesson well, Arjuna Ravanashwar, out of Ahalija by Muruhan; and so have you, Amritray. Know also, that our people used to have a similar institution: the sacred bond of Omega warriors.”

Hearing his full name and heritage quoted and acknowledged by a Pride Alpha, Arjuna paled under his bronzed skin.

“You honour us, my lord. But we are only two people, and siblings at that. We can not possibly bond that way. Even if there weren’t the issue of incest, I… I’m not male enough for _that_ ,” he admitted in utter humiliation.

“No need for that,” Tyr said. “Omega warriors bond in the first place with their Pride Alpha. Which means that you won’t be bonding yourself to your sister; you’ll both be bonded to _me_ – in both, body and mind.”

“My lord, you shouldn’t waste your precious genes on us,” Amritray protested in shock. “Our bodies are but barren husks; and you have wives you must consider.”

“My wives won’t have reason to complain,” Tyr said calmly. “My loins are powerful enough to service them properly – and to keep your bond to me alive. I need you to protect my First Wife and my unborn son... and for other, even more important purposes. But I can’t trust you, until I’ve shared your bodies _and_ minds. I need someone I can trust unconditionally. Your… gift could make you those persons. But I cannot tell you what’s at stake here – not before you’ve sworn the Omega oath.”

“What, exactly, includes the Omega oath?” Arjuna asked. “We are inclined to accept your generous offer, my lord, but we’d like to know what we are getting ourselves into.”

Tyr nodded in appreciation. The twins were apparently balanced enough not to accept anything of face value without asking for the details. That was a very good thing.

“Omega warriors are more to their Pride Alpha than lovers and less than slaves,” he explained. “If you accept my offer and go through the ritual with me, you’ll be _mine_ , till the end of your lives. Like an Omega wolf in the pack, you’ll have the lowest position in the Pride. But in exchange, you’ll belong to my household, and I’ll reinstate your status and your family name. You’ll be acknowledged members of Kodiak Pride – but you’ll be part of my family, too. You won’t have any obligations to anyone other than me. No one can demand anything from you… but I can demand everything, and you’d have to obey. Consider this carefully, for once taken, the oath cannot be reversed.”

The mind-to-mind communication of the twins lasted longer this time.

“What does the ritual involve?” Arjuna asked.

“Traditionally, the ritual only requires that I claim you as mine – before the eyes of two witnesses,” Tyr replied. “But with you, I want to take it a step further. I want not only a bond of flesh; I also want a bond of minds. Can it be done?”

The twins looked at each other again – and shrugged in unison.

“We don’t know,” Arjuna said. “We never tried it with anyone but each other. We can try to initiate a mental bond… but it might be a long, complicated and very… unpleasant process.”

“I can live with that,” Tyr shrugged. “But if you do accept my offer, the bond must be completed before I leave for the _Andromeda_. The question is: do you want to go through the ritual?”

The young warriors nodded as one, and Arjuna answered for both of them. “Yes, my lord. We never had lovers – who’d want to touch anything like us, neither male, nor female? – no family, no status. Accepting your offer would at least give us status.”

“Very well,” Tyr nodded. “We’ll do it upon my return from Centauris A. Whom do you want as your witnesses?”

They looked at each other, and this time Amritray gave the answer. “Nemhain… and Shakuni.”

This choice surprised Tyr. “You don’t want your own Matriarch to witness the change in your status?”

The two shook their heads in cold dismay.

“We have no Matriarch,” Amritray said coldly. “Parvati knew what was done to us in our mother’s womb. She allowed it to happen. And when things had gone wrong, she declared us _pariah_ s. We do not trust her.”

“As you wish,” Tyr shrugged. “The choice is yours. Now, there’s one more detail to clear. Amritray, which way do you wish to be taken: as a male or as a female?”

The warrior’s head jerked back in surprise. “You would allow _me_ to choose?”

“Certainly. This is your life, after all.”

“No one has ever _considered_ me a woman,” she whispered in awe. “All knew I was… damaged, a failure… They avoided me like a plague, as if my… condition were contagious.”

“Like a woman, then?”

“But I’m not worth…”

“That was not my question,” Tyr switched to formal mode. “I asked you, Amritray, out of Ahalija by Muhuron, what do you _want_. What do you _truly_ want. Tell me.”

There was no chance to avoid a direct answer. So she glanced up into his eyes and said in a determined, albeit a little shaky voice. “I wish to be taken as a woman, my lord.”

“Then so it shall be,” Tyr said. “I shall be back in four days’ time. Don’t tell anyone till then, not even your chosen witnesses. I don’t want anyone to interfere. Understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” they chorused.

“Very well. Go now. I’ll see you in four days.”

They parted company, and Tyr returned to the guest room to have some rest before leaving for Centauris A.


	13. In the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr forges an alliance with the Sabra Pride of the Centauris A colony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know nothing about the Centauris A colony, aside from the canon fact that it was a Nietzschean world. All the background facts were made up by me. I gave them considerable defensive (and attack) forces, based on the canon information that a) they were able to endure in the neighbourhood of the Magog-infested Dyhedra System, ad b) that the children from GS92916 chose them as one of their primary targets.
> 
> Ship classifications are based on the data as seen on the **[All Systems University](http://saveandromeda.com/allsystems/)** website. Tyr’s descent from the Progenitor is simple conjecture.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 12 - In the Lion's Den**

For most Nietzscheans, Centauris A was nothing but a footnote on the galactic map. A small colony world, slightly aside from the main slipstream routes, and in dangerous proximity of the Dyhedra System, up till a few months ago a major Magog stronghold. No one knew how the Sabra endured in this perilous place - but no one really cared, either. If anyone wasted a thought at them at all, which happened rarely enough, they shrugged and simply accepted that, somehow, they obviously _did_. The _means_ of survival were not particularly interesting.

Tyr had shared the indifference of the majority of his people... until now. When he’d warned the colony of the planned attack of the young _kludge_ s on the High Guard Station 92916, it had been just a half-hearted attempt to make allies among the smaller branches and to build his path slowly forward, aiming for the really big alliances. Meeting Deborah face to face, and then re-watching Ezekial El-Hakim’s message many times in order to learn to read this future ally’s mannerism and body language, made him re-evaluate his previous opinions of this particular branch. Maybe there was more to the Sabra on Centauris A than anyone would believe.

He’d not counted on the hard proof that he came to face in high orbit above Centauris A, though.

“Is that really what I think it is?” he asked Shakuni, whom he had asked to come with him as his witness. The former assassin called up the data from the _Maru_ ’s computer for confirmation.”

“According to database, it is,” he said. “A genuine High Guard heavy patrol craft, complete with its squadron of eight light patrol crafts – _or_ a couple of very good replicas. Actually, I rather believe that they _are_ replicas. They read as too new for being original items. But nice work nevertheless. Combined, they’ve got about a hundred combatants, ten ELS tubes, some two dozen defensive kinetic kill missiles and the AP gun turret of the heavy patrol craft. More than enough to keep the colony safe on a regular day.”

“Even if the ships are replicas, they had to get the plan from somewhere,” Tyr said. “But who’d have detailed High Guard technical manuals nowadays?”

“My guess would be the High Guard station your Captain Hunt recently ‘liberated’,” Shakuni replied. I’m sure the Sabra have raided that place for generations. They might either have taken the data or captured the ships themselves, took them apart, studied them and then built new ones.”

“That would be a tremendous advantage for them,” Tyr said jealously, seeing the perspective. There had been a reason why he’d wanted to get his hands on the _Andromeda_ in the first place.

Shakuni nodded. “For them… and for their allies. El-Hakim could bring you a great deal closer to your ultimate goal, my lord.”

“What do you know of him… personally?” Tyr asked sidestepping the thinly veiled question about his ultimate goal easily.

“Not much,” Shakuni shrugged. “He’s a surprisingly private person for a First Alpha of his status. He’s got sixteen wives and twenty-seven children. His grown sons, the ones one can meet off-planet, are all Alphas – a very good bloodline. He’s been doing the same thing you attempt, my lord: seeking alliances with small Prides or cadet branches, creating a network of allies against the Jaguars and the Drago-Kazov. Seven of his daughters have been married off to such allies as First and Second Wives, so far.”

“Considering that you don’t know _much_ about him, this was a great deal of information,” Tyr grinned. Shakuni grinned back.

“I worked with his First Daughter, Abigail, once. She’s a highly skilled assassin, even as Sabran lady-killers go. Oh,” he added, glancing at the comm system, “it seems that our hosts want to talk.”

He transferred the call to Tyr’s unit. On the small screen, the dark, handsome face of a young Alpha appeared. He had a striking resemblance to his sire.

“This is David El-Hakim, out of Delilah by Ezekial, commander of the planetary defences of Centauris A, to unidentified vessel,” he said. “State your intentions.”

The crisp military tone surprised Tyr a little, but he was careful not to show it.

“This is Tyr Anasazi, aboard the _Eureka Maru_ ,” he replied. “I’m expected by Pride Alpha Ezekial El-Hakim.”

The young Alpha checked something on his screen, then he nodded.

“Confirmed. Welcome to Centauris A. You’re free to land at Makkabi Spaceport. We’ll transfer landing coordinates to your board computer. Patrol command out.”

Barely had the landing coordinates been transferred - which only took six seconds – David El-Hakim broke the connection. Tyr shook his head in mild exasperation.

“I should have brought Dylan with me. He’s always complaining about too little military discipline aboard the _Andromeda_.”

“They used to share borders with the Magog,” Shakuni reminded him. “That must have required constant battle readiness… a strike force that now, since the _kludge_ children have taken care of the Magog, can be used for other purposes.”

“Depends on the strike force,” Tyr murmured, but his mind was already occupied with the analysis of the various possibilities.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After the frozen tundra that had been Haukin Vora, Centauris A was quite a shock for Tyr: a hot and arid world of the size of Mars Solis, orbiting an orange dwarf star, with higher than standard surface gravity and very little surface water. A virtual desert, peppered with large oases, built over underground water reserves. Those reserves fed surface geysers heated by geothermal energy, which was the very basis of the colony’s economy. A clear and abundant source of wealth.

As a rule, Nietzscheans preferred planets with a harsh environment, where only their genetically enhanced race could survive. For most people hostile conditions were their first line of defence.

This particular colony, however, had even more powerful weapons at its disposal, part of which Tyr had already seen in orbit. Where the Völsung survivors had a small compound where they could live, this Sabra branch had a loose network of oasis cities; all independent, yet all living under the rule of their Pride Alpha. The seat of said Alpha, in a city named Makkabi in the equatorial area, was a literal fortress, cut in the very stone of the bare rock, surrounded by high walls and the most advanced surveillance and defence systems known to date. Nietzscheans were paranoid by nature, and the Pride Alpha and his family required more protection than what mere stone could offer.

At Makkabi Spaceport, Tyr and Shakuni were welcomed by another son of the powerful head of the El-Hakim family: Nathaniel, a handsome young Alpha with a deceivingly harmless appearance. He led them through an underground tunnel directly to the fortress of his father,

Like in every Nietzschean house that served as the home of an entire clan, here, too the atrium was where all social events took place. This atrium, however, had nothing common with the Spartan simplicity of the Völsung compound. The thick walls of living rock kept out the heat of the outside world and were covered with hand-made carpets of bright colours, the low, comfortable armchairs cushioned with soft leather.

Ezekial El-Hakim sat in the circle of his four ranking wives: Judith, Delilah, Dinah and Semiramis. A colourful crowd of their children and grandchildren filled the various corners of the atrium. The Pride Alpha was a large man, with heavy muscles, big bones, a broad face and small, piercing amber eyes. He reminded Tyr of a greying lion, watching his prey. The Kodiak eyed him warily, sensing the power that he radiated so strongly that it engulfed him like an almost visible aura. Tyr began to understand the wisdom and necessity of accepting El-Hakim’s demands. This Pride Alpha could have been as dangerous an enemy as he could be useful as an ally.

The Sabra wore casual clothes, matching the hot climate of their homeworld: richly embroidered, sleeveless vests and comfortably baggy pants of some loosely-woven fabric that was light enough to let even the slightest breeze through and didn’t hinder their movements. This clothing, combined with their gilded bracers, gave their appearance an exotic touch, even in Nietzschean standards. They offered a formidable sight, and Tyr was grateful that his ancestors had chosen to breed for physical perfection – he had no need to feel inferior.

Ezekial El-Hakim rose when Tyr reached the middle of the atrium, which was a rare sign of respect shown a still prideless Alpha. It showed that the Sabran leader wanted this planned alliance really badly – whatever his reasons for doing so might have been.

“Greetings, Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria by Barbarossa,” he said in a deep, grumbling voice that sounded a hell of a lot more impressive in the echoing rock chamber than it had through the comm system. “May I present my daughter, Mikaelan?”

The wording was that of the formal introduction of a marriage-ready female to her future husband. Apparently, the ruling family of Centauris A had already considered this marriage a done deal – _after_ the ever-necessary genetic tests, of course. Following tradition, Tyr bowed his head formally and gave the required answer.

“I’m honoured, lady mine. I offer you my arm, whenever you might be in need for help or protection.”

Mikaelan was as tall as her sister, Deborah: a raven-haired, olive-skinned, almond-eyed dark beauty, with the lean body of an athlete – or a born warrior. She wore her hair in multiple braids, knotted together on the top of her head, the same sleeveless shirt as the male members of her family, with a short skirt made of black leather straps and light sandals that were fastened with leather thongs wrapped around her calves up to the knees. There was a predatory grace in the way she moved, and Tyr asked himself whether she, too, was a trained assassin. Many Sabran females were, especially those of respected bloodlines, as blood feuds were quite common in Sabra Pride.

“I accept,” she said simply, after giving Tyr a good, hard look. Not that there would have been any doubt to begin with, of course. This was a political alliance between her father and her future husband; she was a mere pawn in it. But she apparently found Tyr a good choice.

“Does the First Matriarch of our Pride agree?” El-Hakim asked formally a venerable-looking elderly woman who, as Tyr would learn later, was the mother of his second wife, Semiramis.

“I need to see the test results yet,” the matron replied, “but if they are satisfactory, then I am in favour of this bond.”

“Has the First Wife given her spoken agreement?” El-Hakim asked, this time directly of Tyr.

Tyr handed him a flimsy with Freya’s recorded message of formal agreement. “She has. And my other wives, Derdriu and Finnabair of Völsung Pride, agreed to accept Third and Fourth status.”

“Do we have a witness of this agreement?” the Matriarch inquired.

Shakuni stepped forth. “I, Shakuni Mohasai out of Draupadí by Lakshmana, vouch for it,” he said. “I am certain that First Daughter Abigail El-Hakim would assure you of my truthfulness.”

“I do,” a woman of roughly Tyr’s age and with a striking resemblance to both Deborah and Mikaelan said.

El-Hakim and his Matriarch, Agrippina, exchanged appreciative looks.

“I see that you have managed to build your own alliances already,” the Pride Alpha said. “We are aware of the fact that you accepted the Rite of Protection from Orca Pride. That is good. We shall speak about further bonds when your wedding has taken place.”

“We must act quickly, then,” Tyr answered. “My time here is limited, as I don’t want Captain Hunt to know about all my moves.”

“That’s a wise decision,” El-Hakim agreed. “The _Andromeda Ascendant_ might be a stabilizing factor between the front lines right now, but I do not trust her captain. You must not raise his suspicions.”

“We can have the wedding right after the tests,” the Matriarch suggested. “All is ready.”

“Good. That leaves us the second half of the night to discuss the finer points of our alliance,” El-Hakim said, “assuming Shakuni here is willing to fly that rustbin of yours back to Haukin Vora.”

The former assassin grinned. “Of course.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr had no objections against this plan; time being the major issue here. He could sleep on their way back, indeed. So the genetic tests were performed with the usual Nietzschean efficiency shown in such cases. Mikaelan’s genes proved truly excellent; Tyr could count himself fortunate to gain a wife of such high genetic value, not to mention the rising of his social status a marriage with her would mean. As the last of Kodiak Pride, it was his duty to spread his genes as widely as possible, to combine his DNA with that of the most worthy partners. He would have to take more than his current four wives (two of which he still had to officially marry yet) if he wanted to rebuild his Pride.

Bonding with the Völsung women was, strictly seen, a throwback. Both Derdriu and Finnabair were the daughters of Betas – had they not been _blood_ , he’d never have mated with them. He could count with reasonable certainty on his own superior genes resulting in children who would be Alpha material. But he couldn’t be sure, not without doubt. He had to do this, as the Pride needed strong Betas as much as it needed Alphas – but even more did he need wives of really good genetic heritage, so that he had a strong foundation for truly superior children.

Resting in the bed of his Second Wife, now officially wedded and having spent hours of most pleasurable efforts to get her with child, Tyr contemplated the unexpected turn of his life to the better. Just a few months ago he had been a mercenary; alone, childless, with no place to call his home in the three galaxies, save his small rent apartment on Haukin Tau Drift. He’d had no allies, no friends, except a shady _kludge_ merchant… he had no real hope.

But now… now he had taken two wives already, would marry two more in a day or so, had fathered five children (even though they were still unborn), had created three alliances, the latest one more powerful than he would have ever hoped for. Soon, he’d have two Omegas swearing lifelong fealty to him, and a ship of his own. Soon, he’d be able to start working on the master plan of his existence.

He was Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria and Barbarossa, the last survivor of an extinct Pride that had once held a unique position in Nietzschean society. One day, he’d re-claim the birthright of his Pride. And the woman in his arms, with the new life stirring in her body, was an important factor for that birthright to become his once again.

More important, in fact, than Tyr, basking in the afterglow of his fourth wedding night in seven days, could have even begun to imagine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After less than three hours of sleep, he was summoned to El-Hakim’s private council chamber. It was time for the negotiations to begin, and they had to hurry up. Only four of the Pride Alpha’s children had been invited to this meeting, one of them a female of deadly elegance. Tyr needed a moment to recognize her as Abigail, as she – like her brothers present – wore a semi-militaristic uniform now.

“Allow me to do the introductions,” El-Hakim said without preamble, gesturing towards the man on his right. “My son Jonathan, the admiral of our fleet and captain of the _Wrath of Heaven_ , our only deep stand-off attack ship. I’m sure you remember my First Daughter, Abigail – she’s our chief assassin and also captain of the _Hand of Victory_ , one of our long-range surveillance ships. The other such ship, the _Judgement’s Fall_ , is commanded by my son Nathaniel, our spymaster, whom you’ve already met. And finally my son Joshua, our chief tactician and field marshal. He’s also the captain of our drop ship carrier, the _Sickle of Retribution_ ”.

To say that Tyr was stunned would have been an understatement.

“Just how many High Guard ships do you have?” he asked, after having exchanged the traditional warrior’s greeting with the younger Alphas – including the female assassin.

“That about sums it up,” El-Hakim replied with a shrug. “The only other really big ship we have is a group defence frigate, the _Heart of the Night_ , under the command of my son David. He’s the one responsible for planetary defences and commands the two squadrons of LPCs as well.”

Tyr made quick calculations in his head. “That would still mean more than a thousand combatants aboard those ships alone, not to mention the troops a drop ship carrier would transport. That is, if you man your ships according to High Guard standards.”

“We do,” El-Hakim said simply. “We might be just a cadet branch, with a mere two hundred thousand people on this whole planet, but our military, as you’ll see, is highly efficient. Although I must admit that none of our ships are the genuine High Guard article.”

“What do you mean?” Tyr asked with a frown.

El-Hakim leaned forward in his seat, speaking quietly but with an urgency in his voice that was quite surprising.

“My father, Leonidas was the one who finally managed to take the building plans from that abandoned High Guard station. Of course, we used to have a few captured vessels when this colony was founded, more than two hundred years ago, but they were battered derelicts. But we knew we _had_ to get our hands on this technology. We lived fence-to-fence with one of the major Magog systems. Granted, the _kludge_ kids have just solved this problem for us permanently, but we still don’t know where the Magog came from. And as long as we can’t shatter their home planet to pieces, with all the other planets under their rule, we have to remain vigilant.”

“So you’ve raided the station repeatedly, until you got all the information you needed?” Tyr raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Impressive. I saw the bone blades those young _kludge_ s have collected during the last three centuries. You must have lost many good warriors.”

“We have,” El-Hakim admitted, “two of my own sons among them. But it had to be done. The Commonwealth once made the grave mistake to negotiate a ‘peace treaty’ with the Magog,” he snorted. “How can you agree to a ‘peace treaty’ with someone who considers you dinner? Small wonder the Commonwealth collapsed like a card house.”

“With the considerable help of our people,” Tyr said grimly.

“The Sabra fought in the Battle of Witchhead with all their might,” El-Hakim said. “Had Jaguar Pride not abandoned us, we might not have lost half of our ships. Those treacherous cowards!”

“And yet I heard that you’re not part of the Sabra-Jaguar blood feud,” Tyr said. El-Hakim shook his head.

“Blood feuds are good for vengeance but not always good for survival,” he said. “One needs to know when to stop. Tamerlane Mossadim seems to have lost his perspective. He’s obsessed with erasing Jaguar Pride from the galactic map. He’ll fail.”

“You really think so?” Tyr asked in surprise. “He’s said to be a good strategist. And he has a large fleet.”

“True. But Charlemagne Bolivar, decadent and treacherous fool as he might be, is brilliant. And the Jaguar fleet is bigger than Tamerlane’s. Besides, our true enemy is the Magog. We should join forces and try to find their homeworld, instead of massacring each other. The Bolivar family knows this. They’ve even gone so far as marrying off one of Charlemagne’s sister to Cuatemoc.”

“Cuatemoc?” Tyr frowned. “One of the Drago-Kazov fleet commanders? Are the Jaguars allied to the Dragans now? That would be… unfortunate.”

“If that was the intent, it failed spectacularly,” Nathaniel shrugged. “If possible, the relationships between the two Prides have gotten worse. They say Beatricea doesn’t get along with the Dragan First Matriarch,” he added with a grin.

“So there is no alliance yet?” Tyr pressed. Nathaniel shook his head.

“Not that I’d know of. And rest assured, I _would_ know of it.”

“It must _not_ get so far,” Tyr said emphatically. “The two together would be too strong for all the others to stand up to.”

“I quite agree,” El-Hakim nodded. “And incidentally, so does Tamerlane. In fact, there are rumours that he’d consider marrying off his First Daughter, Elssbett, to Charlemagne.”

“Hmmm…” Tyr considered this for a moment. “The united Sabra-Jaguar fleet would be strong enough to face the Dragan fleet in battle… and even win.”

“That’s true,” El-Hakim agreed, “but I’d be surprised if Tamerlane didn’t have a hidden agenda with this plan.”

“He’d be a fool not to.”

“Indeed,” Abigail said with a thin smile. “But if Bolivar agrees, they’d need a ship to take Elssbett from the homeworld to her future husband.”

“Preferably a very big one, under the command of a third party, right?” Tyr grinned. Nathaniel nodded.

“Exactly. I think you happen to know the perfect vessel for that purpose?”

“I just might… _if_ I can persuade its esteemed captain that doing so would be good for the new Commonwealth.”

“The new Commonwealth!” Joshua, an ebony-skinned man with short-cropped hair, almost as big as Tyr himself, snorted in amusement. “A few backwater planets band together to play galactic empire… what a joke!”

“You might be right,” Nathaniel agreed, “but there’s always a chance that one of the big players would choose to use Captain Hunt’s game board for their own game.”

“Certainly,” Tyr said. “Or do you believe _I’ve_ bought into Dylan Hunt’s oh-so-noble quest of restoring the so-called lost civilization?”

“Of course not,” El-Hakim’s thin smile mirrored that of his First Daughter. “That would mean you were a fool, and I’d never marry off any daughter of mine to a fool. You’re aiming for the _Andromeda Ascendant_ , aren’t you?”

“And what if I were?” Tyr asked.

“In that case I’d say that a heavy cruiser would strengthen the united forces of Kodiak-Sabra Pride tremendously,” El-Hakim replied. “But it won’t be an easy task. We’ve had our fair share of trouble with sentient High Guard ships, even derelict ones. In most cases, we had to eradicate the core AI’s personality and replace it with a new one.”

“I’ve taken that possibility under consideration,” Tyr replied calmly. “I’d regret to erase _Andromeda_ AI, but I’d do so if there wasn’t any other choice. There have been certain… steps taken towards that goal. But I’ll try other methods first.”

“We might have less time than you’d think,” Nathaniel warned him. “Not only has Magog activity steadily increased in the recent years, but there’s a new threat to our people, too.”

“The Genites,” Tyr nodded grimly. “I’ve heard of them.”

“Have you also heard of their technology?” Nathaniel asked. “It seems they didn’t suffer a scientific setback after the Commonwealth era. They are stronger now than the High Guard used to be before the fall of the Long Night. _And_ they are hunting _all_ genetically modified humans. Our people are their primary targets – the only good thing is, they are still too few for an all-out attack. But that might change.”

“The Prides must be united to be able to face this double threat,” El-Hakim added. “That is why I suggested this alliance. You may be prideless now, Tyr Anasazi, but your bloodline has descended directly from the Progenitor. If he is ever to be reborn, he’d come from your line. Every single one of your current wives – including Mikaelan – could become the one who’d give birth to the genetic reincarnation of the Progenitor. We need you – your heritage – to reunite the Prides.”

“Only the Progenitor himself can do that,” Tyr said. “And although I’m a close enough match, I’m still not him.”

“What you’re not now, you still can become… under the right circumstances,” El-Hakim said. “However, for _that_ you’ll need to retrieve what once belonged to your family.”

 _You need to re-claim the bones of Drago Museveni_ , said the unspoken message. Which happened to be one of Tyr’s long-term goals, of course. Together with rebuilding Kodiak Pride and re-establishing its rightful status in Nietzschean society.

He also knew that El-Hakim had been right. There _were_ methods, hazardous they might be, to make subtle changes to someone’s genetic make-up, so that he could, indeed, pretend to actually be the Progenitor. With the matching background story to explain why the ‘fact’ had been hidden so far, of course.

And if he could find a certain Perseid geneticist to do the dirty work, he could swat two flies at once, as humans liked to say.

“We can’t help you with the action itself,” El-Hakim added. “We must not risk this colony or reveal our true strength. But Nathaniel can provide you with sufficient intelligence.”

“I have the means that would enable me to re-claim what’s mine by right,” Tyr said. “But you could help me a great deal if you found a person for me. A Perseid, to be more accurate.”

“I’ve got a good connection to the Sinti Council of Directors,” El-Hakim said thoughtfully, “and Nathaniel can hunt down the person you need… if you can give him anything to work with.”

“I can’t, personally,” Tyr replied. “But there’s a Völsung physician on El Dorado Drift who could supply some essential data, I think. His name is Kaveh Hamayouni. He’s a simple doctor now, running a clinic for our kind, but he used to know the Perseid in question.”

He scribbled Kaveh’s comm code to a flimsy and handed it to Nathaniel. The spymaster gave it a glance and nodded.

“I’ll see that it be done.”

“Good,” El-Hakim said. “Now, there’s only one more detail to discuss: the future whereabouts of Mikaelan. I’d prefer to keep her here, as long as you still don’t have a home of your own.”

“I concur,” Tyr said, although he knew this was another way to ensure his loyalty: by keeping his new wife and his unborn child here, El-Hakim could be reasonably certain that he’d keep up his end of the bargain. “My Völsung wives also chose to stay on Haukin Vora for the time being. But one day…”

“One day the new Kodiak-Sabra Pride will be united,” El-Hakim nodded in agreement. “We’ll take good care of your wife and progeny in the meantime.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
With that, the meeting was adjourned, and Tyr returned to his most recent wife for a few short hours. Mikaelan was awake already, packing his bag for the trip back to Haukin Vora. Nietzschean women were nothing if not practical.

“I’ve added a few documents about our family,” she said quietly. “Our line is an old and respected one, and the history of our colony honourable. I thought you’d like to know us a little better.”

“I’d like to know _you_ a little better,” Tyr replied. “Our union might be a political one, but one day you’ll live with me… with us. So, tell me about yourself. What do you do? What do you like?”

“I’m a diagnostic engineer,” Mikaelan said with a shrug, “and I’ve also been trained as an assassin, in case something would happen to Abigail. I’ve served aboard her ship, the _Hand of Victory_ , up to a few weeks ago. Till my father ordered me back for our wedding.”

“Were you agreeable?” Tyr asked.

“Of course,” Mikaelan laughed now; it softened her slightly hard features and made her look beautiful. “I’m twenty-seven – it’s high time for me to breed, and you are a worthy mate. Should I one day choose to return to my old job, we’ll find a way. Abigail has children as well. They are raised in Jonathan’s family. I’m sure your other wives would do the same for me.”

“They certainly would,” Tyr agreed, thinking of Derdriu and Finnabair, his most mature wives. “Though I’d prefer not to send you in any danger.”

“So would I, but we can’t always make that choice,” Mikaelan replied quietly.

“True again,” Tyr said. “But you still haven’t told me what you like.”

Mikaelan looked at him in mild confusion. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“We all have favourite activities,” Tyr shrugged. “I like to read old books; really old ones, not just flexi copies. And I like to paint sometimes, or to cook. Freya, my First Wife, loves music. And she likes to work in Hydroponics. She used to live within a barren asteroid and now enjoys to see growing things. What do _you_ like?”

Mikaelan thought about that for a moment.

“I’m not sure,” she finally said. “My father insisted that we all got a good education – we’re the ruling family, after all, and knowledge can be a powerful weapon – but beyond that, I’ve had little time for personal interests. The training of an assassin is hard and time-consuming.”

“Everyone needs personal interests,” Tyr said, “or we could all be robots.”

“Well…” Mikaelan hesitated for a moment, “I used to play the flute as a young girl. It was good for making my lungs stronger.”

“I’m sure it was,” Tyr said. “But did you enjoy it as well?”

“It was… a challenge,” she said uncertainly. “The instrument wasn’t easy to master. But my tutor was quite content with me.”

Tyr sighed. “That was not my question. Did you _enjoy_ it?”

“Sometimes,” Mikaelan admitted. “That wasn’t the purpose of the lessons, though. Mastering the task was important… the discipline it taught me.”

“Wrong,” Tyr said. “It is important that you find something you enjoy. Something that helps you to relax. It doesn’t make you weak, you know.”

“Perhaps,” she said, not entirely convinced. “Perhaps I’ll pick up my flute again. When we have a permanent home.”

“I’d love to listen to you playing it,” Tyr smiled; the mental image was nice. “And I, too, am looking forward to have my whole family together, hopefully in the not too distant future. But right now, it’s safer for you – and for our child – to stay here.”

She nodded. “I know. I still envy Freya, though. I’d prefer going with you, too. I like starships; and you might need my skills.”

“And I’ll put them to good use, when the time is right,” Tyr promised. “I know you’re a warrior, and I won’t deny you your battles. For now, though, I need to know that you are safe. You and the others are the future of Kodiak Pride. I cannot put you at risk.”

“And yet you allow Freya to travel with you.”

“That’s different. Freya has nowhere else to go. She chose me above her Pride; the Matriarch would never forgive her for that. She and our child were at much greater risk with her own people. You won’t be with yours.”

“Fair enough,” Mikaelan said. “I accept the necessity of staying here. But I expect regular messages. And you are to call me when I’m needed, child or no child. Understood?”

“Understood,” Tyr smiled. She was so fierce, so admirable, laying down the law for him, instinctively behaving as a future Matriarch that she might become. “Now, I still do have two more hours before my scheduled start. How do you want to spend them?”

“By giving you a chance to know us better,” she replied. “We’ll go and have breakfast with my mother and my siblings. My father would probably be eating with one of his other wives where the children are younger, but my mother has expressed the wish to meet you under less formal circumstances.”

“I’d be honoured,” Tyr said.

He meant it. Being chosen by a woman didn’t automatically mean that the chosen man would be accepted by said woman’s family as well. By earning the favour of El-Hakim’s First Wife, the powerful and highly respected Judith Hassidim, he could become a trusted member of the clan. Sabran clans were exceptionally close-knit as a rule, and what he’d seen from this particular branch so far had shown that the unity and survival of the colony was maintained by pride and discipline. There could be no doubt that great sacrifices were expected – and made – to ensure the survival of the Pride as a whole.

“Follow me then,” Mikaelan said, and taking his hand, she led him out of their bedroom to present him to her mother and siblings.


	14. The Sacred Bond of Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr ritually bonds with his Omega warriors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bonding ritual of the Omega warriors is not a genuine one, of course. I made it up in one of my weird moments. The same is true for the wedding customs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**Chapter 13 - The Sacred Bond of Omega**

Reaching the spaceport, Tyr was mildly surprised when Shakuni arrived at the _Maru_ in the company of a Sabran woman who could have been his daughter – yet obviously wasn’t.

“My lord, may I present the latest addition to Kodiak-Sabra Pride?” the former assassin said. “This is Leah Jericho, out of Sara by Isaac… my newly acquired wife.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Tyr nodded to the dark-haired beauty, then he turned back to Shakuni. “That was… unexpected.”

“For me, too,” Shakuni admitted. “I was a little bewildered when she approached me… the age difference is considerable. But she’d been looking for a suitable husband for quite some time, which is not an easy task for the daughter of a Beta with so many Alpha females around. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Indira will be pleased. She always wanted a bigger family.”

“Is Leah’s family also content with her choice?” Tyr asked, knowing that the Sabra could be very snobbish sometimes.

Shakuni shrugged. “The Matriarch seemed satisfied with my test results. My genes are better than average for a Beta – and so are Leah’s. This is a promising match for both sides.”

“Let’s hope Parvati sees it the same way,” Tyr commented dryly.

“I don’t care about her opinion,” Shakuni said, a cold glint in his dark eyes. “I’m a Kodiak now – the Völsung Matriarch has no longer anything to say in the matters of my family.”

Tyr rolled his eyes. Shakuni was right, of course, and after having been put at a disadvantage by his own Matriarch – well, former Matriarch now – for so long it was understandable that he wanted to rub his newly won independence under her nose. But if he kept this attitude, life on the Völsung compound would soon turn to living hell.

“Try not to antagonize her too much,” Tyr said. “I might get married to her granddaughter yet. Besides, I’ll have my wives there, too. I want them to live in relative peace and safety.”

Shakuni laughed. “Don’t worry, my lord. I’ll behave.”

“I hope so,” Tyr deadpanned. “I’d hate it if I had to kill you.”

“You wish,” Shakuni riposted with a feral grin.

There was a moment of tense silence – then both leaned against the outer hull of the _Maru_ and laughed uproariously.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
On Haukin Vora it was two hours after the local sunrise when Derdriu finally rose. Usually, she was an early riser, due to the fact that she had to raise the teenage son of her late sister. But in the last couple of days she’d unexpectedly enjoyed staying in bed a little longer.

It was still extremely early for her condition to cause her any trouble - thank the forefathers, morning sickness had been bred out of the Nietzschean race countless centuries ago anyway – but she definitely could feel subtle changes. More those of the mood than those of the body. One of them being a previously unknown sort of content laziness that overcame her every morning, making her increasingly reluctant to leave her bed.

Her life had not been very promising in the last two decades. She’d been sixteen at the time of her old home’s destruction – not a child any longer, but still very young. She and her sister Macha, older by six years, only escaped the first Castalian strike because they were paying a long visit at their uncle’s home who happened to live and work on a mining asteroid outside the system. Well, _visit_ probably wasn’t the right word. Their uncle had been drafted for the already lost war, and they had to take care of his orphaned children.

Their uncle never returned. The Castalians, however, did come after the smaller settlements, too, after they had succeeded in killing almost the entire Pride. Macha and Derdriu had to flee with the children as they could… none of the kids survived the long trip, hidden in the cargo bay of a freighter, with little food and almost no water.

When they finally reached Haukin Vora, as ordered by the late Matriarch of their line, they were mere shadows of their former selves – and the only ones of their family who’d survived. Macha then married Rog, a weak and much too young Beta, in a desperate effort to pass on her genes. But when little Sualtam was barely three years old, Macha and Rog got killed by some mercenaries with an interested eye on their small ship.

Derdriu had taken responsibility for her nephew – what else could she have done? – and raised him in the traditions of their practically extinct Pride. Sualtam was fourteen now, a nice and smart boy but, sadly, not Alpha material – barely a Beta, truth be told, which wasn’t surprising, knowing his father. Derdriu loved him very much - he was the only family she had - but she’d learned from her sister’s mistake. If she wanted strong children, she had to marry an Alpha… or, at the very least, get pregnant from one. That was why she never considered choosing Hector Atreides, or even Shakuni. They were both good and loyal men in their best years, but their genes were inferior. Völsung Pride needed fresh blood, and Derdriu herself wanted someone who could give her better than average children.

When Tyr Anasazi walked into their current home, radiating power and confidence as if he owned the place and all its inhabitants, she knew it was, as the _kludge_ s would say, ‘the answer to her prayers’. As a Nietzschean, she didn’t worship any deity, of course, thus prayers were an unknown thing to her, but in this particular case she found the expression strangely fitting. Tyr was indeed everything she could have hoped for – not only a powerful Alpha, but also the last member of the ruling Kodiak family and a direct descendant of the Progenitor.

It didn’t really bother her that she had to step back and give up Second Wife status to that Sabran girl. The alliance with such a powerful Sabran branch served to their advantage. Mikaelan might have the title – but she and the others were _blood_.

This thought delighted her greatly as she finally rose to get ready for the new day. As a researcher, she enjoyed the benefits of flexible working hours. As long as she got the work done, her boss – a genetically enhanced human from the high-gravity ice planet named Valhalla – didn’t care how many hours she actually spent in the labs.

Most people were baffled to see a Nietzschean wearing a lab kit, bending over a microscope. They thought all Nietzscheans were bloodthirsty barbarians, kept on leash only by a set of arcane rules. That might have been true for many Alphas in these days, but Betas and the lower ranks were different. They usually _worked_ for a living.

Besides, genetic research was the most highly appreciated branch of science among Nietzscheans. Their whole existence was based on it, after all. And even though she only worked with plants, Derdriu found that this sort of work suited her perfectly.

Today, however, she was going to work from home. In the current stage of her research all she needed to do was to run some computer simulations for the development predictions of the new crop they were currently working on. She could do it in her own lab. Especially with Finnabair sitting at the opposite desk to help her, should she run into any difficulties. She was fortunate to have someone of Finnabair’s skills handy.

She welcomed the prospect of working – and living – with Finnabair permanently. They were a good team: from the same bloodline, only three years, apart, practically grown into adulthood together in exile. United, they’d be able to protect their interests against the higher-ranking wives, if necessary. And until Tyr found a safe haven for his family, Derdriu was quite content to keep on living with her old Pride.

She entered the lab and found Finnabair in deep concentration already. Which was surprising, as the other woman preferred to work late and rise late, as a rule.

“You’re very busy,” Derdriu commented softly. “In fact, you’ve been very busy ever since our husband left for Centauris A.”

“He asked for something very…. specific,” Finnabair replied absently, glaring at her screen as if she wanted to intimidate it into cooperation. Derdriu knew if _she_ were a computer, she _would_ cooperate. Finnabair could be downright frightening behind that smooth, cool mask of hers.

“Are you having difficulties with it?” She asked in surprise. That would be a first. Finnabair was very good with computers. What she might lack in genetic excellence, she made up for it twice in talent and skills.

“Nah,” Finnabair answered, tucking an errant lock of her chestnut hair behind and ear, “not really. It’s just very… delicate work, and it needs to be done before Tyr returns to the _Andromeda_.”

“I won’t be disturbing you, then…”

“You are not. In fact, it’s basically done. I’m just running the necessary control checks. You want to help me? I’ll help you with your simulations later.”

Derdriu hesitated. Truth be told, she didn’t really have the time to do anything else but her own work. But she was very curious what Tyr had wanted Finnabair to do for him – and if Finnabair helped her in exchange, she’d be done in record time.

“All right,” she agreed, sitting down in front of the control screen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr welcomed the coolness of Haukin Vora after the hot desert that had been Centauris A. While not particularly bothered by temperatures considered extreme by mere humans, he preferred the lower end of the scale. He wondered how Leah would be able to adapt to the cold climate, though… but that was Shakuni’s problem.

He had been grateful for the former assassin’s presence on their trip back. Nietzscheans were bred for stamina (among other things), but even an Alpha male needed at least _some_ recovery time after having taken four wives within a week. Nietzschean brides could be… demanding, especially right after the wedding. So yes, Tyr welcomed the chance to catch up with much-needed sleep, before he had to perform again due to the Omega bonding ceremony.

He’d slept all the way back to Haukin Vora and now entered the Völsung compound refreshed and ready again. Ayeshwariam came running to great him practically wrapping her limber young body around his heavier frame, climbing up his body to kiss him. He literally had to peel her off – not that he had anything against her enthusiasm, but right now he couldn’t indulge himself. Time still was an issue, more than before, and he had more urgent things to do.

“I need to speak to the Matriarchs,” he told the broadly grinning Paris Atreides, “in the presence of my wives. And later I’ll need Kaveh’s assistance. Can you arrange it?”

Paris nodded. “Give me five minutes,” he said and left.

Tyr turned to Aspasia, who served as the housekeeper of the entire compound.

“I’ll have to perform a ritual bonding within the hour,” he said. “In front of witnesses. Do you have a suitable room?”

“A… ritual bonding?” Aspasia repeated, her eyes widening.

“The Omega oath,” Tyr told her bluntly. She froze for a second; then she nodded.

“We have a larger guestroom, for visiting families. That should give you enough space. Shall I prepare it for you? I’m familiar with the requirements of the ritual. One of my great-uncles used to be oath-bound to his Pride Alpha.”

“I’d appreciate your help,” Tyr nodded. “Inform Arjuna and Amritray to prepare themselves – and to pack their bags. I’m taking them with me.”

“I’ll alert Kaveh to get his things for the markings,” Aspasia said and hurried away.

Ayeshwariam stared at Tyr in utter bewilderment.

“What do you want from _those_?” she asked with innocent bluntness. “They are nothing – a waste of genetic resources.”

“I’ve need of them,” Tyr replied coldly. “What for is not your business. You chose not to marry me – so you have no say in what I am doing.”

Ayeshwariam retreated, pouting and obviously hurt, but Tyr had no patience for her childish antics. He waved impatiently to a russet-haired teenager who was lurking in the background.

“You, boy… what’s your name?”

“I’m Sualtam,” the boy replied, “out of Macha by Rog.”

“Where can I find my other wives?”

“They are in the labs,” giving him a calculating glance from under his bangs, the boy added, “I can show you the way.”

“Good,” Tyr said. “Do it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“The program seems to work flawlessly,” Finnabair declared. “I hope Tyr will be satisfied with it.”

“It depends on the outcome,” the velvety voice of their husband said from the door. They both sprang up in delight.

“Tyr,” Finnabair exclaimed, “you are early. We’ve barely finished the test runs.”

“I still have a few things to do here before I leave,” Tyr accepted the tiny disc from her and stored it in a well-hidden, secure slot in his boot. “Are you certain that it would work?”

Finnabair nodded. “The virus will delete the core AI personality without a trace. That’s not the problem. Writing an entirely new program for the replacement will be. I didn’t have enough time for _that_ – it would take weeks, probably months. A sentient ship is an incredibly complex entity... and I have no experience with High Guard technology.”

“Then these might help,” Tyr handed her a small box full of discs with the copies of everything the Sabra had been able to harvest from GS92916. “Study them – these are genuine data. I’ll try to get more for you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Finnabair promised. “In the meantime… don’t use the virus yet, unless it’s absolutely necessary. Wiping out the core AI would have the _Andromeda_ dead in space. Even you wouldn’t be able to keep it safe from plunderers with her internal defences down.”

“I know that,” Tyr said, “and I’m in no hurry.”

Besides, if he wanted to erase the _Andromeda_ AI, he’d have to kill Harper first. And he wasn’t ready to do _that_. Not while there were other options. The engineer was too valuable. And that had nothing to do with the absurd idea that he actually _liked_ the annoying little _kludge_. Harper was simply more useful alive.

“Let us join the Matriarchs now,” he suggested. “Our contracts have to be signed officially – and I have an announcement to make.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
As expected, not only the Matriarchs were waiting for them in the atrium. There was the Atreides family (minus Hector who, together with Nemhain’s son Ferdiad, was still working at the spaceport), Shakuni’s family, Kaveh and Amfortas, and even the young males raised by Nemhain.

As Tyr’s new wives belonged to her bloodline, Nemhain was the one to present the contracts and to ask the time-honoured questions. She had to work hard to conceal her excitement behind the mask of official dignity. It had been a long time since the last wedding in Völsung Pride – and even longer since they had an Alpha marrying into their clans.

But she mastered her task flawlessly, like a true Matriarch. The traditional vows were spoken, the double helices presented, the gems representing the new wives welded onto Tyr’s helix, long, unhurried kisses exchanged and the marriage contracts that made Derdriu and Finnabair part of the new Kodiak-Sabra Pride signed. It was a glorious moment for all involved parties. Only Ayeshwariam watched the new wives enviously, miffed that her grandmother hadn’t allowed her to get married like the others. Even Fifth status would have been a lot better than being the breeding mare for her own bloodline.

“I’m leaving for the _Andromeda_ in a few hours,” Tyr finally announced, “which leaves me just enough time to take care for one last piece of unfinished business. Second Matriarch,” he looked at Parvati coldly, “I understand that the continuing presence of Arjuna and Amritray has long been an unpleasant burden for you. I’m going to relieve you from that burden. The two agreed to take the Omega oath – we’ll perform the ceremony right away, and I’m taking them with me.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Parvati’s head would explode. Accepting whom she’d declared _pariah_ s as the shieldmates of a Pride Alpha was a serious challenge of her authority. But there was nothing she could do about it. She had cast out the twins as unworthy of her bloodline – a decision just as short-sighted as putting Shakuni at disadvantage in order to ensure the unchallenged Alpha status of her own sons. Now she had to face the consequences. With Shakuni’s family choosing to return to the mother tribe and the twins becoming oath-bound to Tyr, she remained alone. Only Ayeshwariam could she still keep… for how long, she couldn’t even guess.

Tyr didn’t pay her any more attention. His thoughts were already on the task before him.

“Is everything ready?” he asked Aspasia. The woman nodded.

“Everything has been prepared. They are waiting.”

“What about witnesses?” Andraste spoke for the first time, having wisely decided to simply watch the events she wouldn’t have a chance to influence.

“They asked for Nemhain and Shakuni to witness their oath,” Tyr replied.

For the second time within minutes, Parvati’s head seemed near to explosion. Even though she’d rejected the twins right after their birth, the fact that _they_ dared to reject _her_ made her mad with rage.

Yet again, there was nothing she could do about it.

“Do you accept?” Andraste looked at the two witnesses. She was still the First Matriarch. They still owed her at least an answer.

The witnesses nodded.

“This is a solution of mutual advantage,” Shakuni said. “I’m honoured to witness the revival of such an ancient and sacred tradition.”

“And I’ll do it because the twins have been wasted here long enough,” Nemhain added. “This way, they finally can be useful.”

“Let’s do it then,” Tyr said, a little impatiently.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Accompanied by the witnesses and Kaveh, whom he needed for the marking, he went to the guest room that had been selected and prepared for the bonding ceremony. The witnesses took the seats placed there for them, opposite the large bed, and Arjuna – first that had been born thus first to be taken – laid down his clothes.

Tyr eyed the deceptively slender body with appreciation. The young man could never match him in pure strength, but more than made up for it with skill and speed, like a striking cobra. There was a deadly elegance in those long, smooth limbs, considered untouchable because of his inability to breed. Tyr knew that with his willingness to accept the young warriors as shieldmates, to touch them, to give them a respectable status in Nietzschean society, he would ensure their loyalty for life. They had nothing to gain by betraying him, but everything to lose. They’d gladly die for him and his family.

And that was exactly what he needed. For his long-term plans to succeed, he needed absolute loyalty. From the twins, he’d have that once he bonded them. This was what inspired him to do it, not mere sympathy for the ill-fated young warriors. Nietzscheans were pragmatists; sentimentality had no place in their lives.

Tyr discarded his own clothes and stepped closer to the young warrior, asking the time-honoured words that had not been spoken in Völsung Pride for at least two generations.

“Arjuna Ravanashwar, out of Ahalija by Muharon, what is your desire?”

“I desire to be bonded to my lord, Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria and Barbarossa, by the sacred bond of Omega and thus become a member of Kodiak Pride by all but blood,” the young warrior replied. “Is my lord willing to accept me?”

“I am,” Tyr took Arjuna’s face in his hands and kissed the young warrior on the lips, long and hard. “Before the eyes of these witnesses, I declare you my shieldmate, to be bonded in both mind and body.”

“The intentions have been declared,” Nemhain announced. “Complete the bond!”

Arjuna lowered himself onto the bed. The ritual coupling demanded him to be the submissive one; not that he’d ever consider anything else. Tyr was an Alpha - more than that, a Pride Alpha now - while he couldn’t even be seen as one of the lowest ranks. The mating itself was quick and hard, as such ritual encounters always are, but Tyr did his best to make it as pleasant for the young warrior as possible under such circumstances, knowing that he was dealing with a virgin and wanting to imprint him strong enough so that Arjuna would never desire the touch of anyone else.

When they reached completion, Tyr felt something in his mind – a tentative touch, a little hesitating, as if someone knocked on an imaginary door. He forced his mind to open, and Arjuna’s emotions flooded his consciousness: gratitude, relief, pride… even something akin to hero worship. There could be no doubt that Arjuna was now _his_ , body and soul.

He repeated the procedure with Amritray, and there was some pain, no matter how careful he tried to be, because she had never been touched like that before, either. But when their rudimentary telepathic bond formed itself, the only emotions Tyr could feel from her were similar to those of her brother.

Afterwards, the witnesses declared the ceremony valid and the bonds true, and Kaveh brought forth his tools and tattooed the Omega symbol, encircled by the Kodiak insignia, upon their foreheads. The ink he used was only visible in ultraviolet light; a clearly visible sign would make an Omega extremely vulnerable to attacks from every enemy of their Pride. But they knew the mark was there, and so did their lord and the witnesses. No official records about the bond were necessary.

When all was done, Kaveh and the witnesses left, leaving Tyr alone with the only people in the Known Worlds whom he could trust unconditionally.

“Clean up yourselves,” he ordered, “and bring everything you want to keep or might need to my ship. We’ll start as soon as you are ready.”

They nodded in unison obediently, but there was a gleam in their eyes that had not been there before. Before, they had been nothing. Genetic failure. _Pariah_ s. Cannon fodder. Now they had status, a purpose and a family. They were Omega warriors, the shieldmates of the Pride Alpha, and that was the second best thing after a family of their own.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr’s wives came to the spaceport to say their farewells, and so did Shakuni and Kaveh. The later was due to board a ship to El Dorado Drift anyway. But it had been agreed that he would come aboard the _Andromeda_ during their next stop at the Drift, to check on Freya’s condition. Tyr would have preferred an immediate visit from the doctor but that would have overstressed Dylan’s tolerance. It would be hard enough to make him accept the presence of two additional Nietzschean warriors.

They used the trip to Ornithrone to work on their newly formed mental bond. At first all Tyr could perceive were strong feelings; he couldn’t even locate their source. Step by step, however, he learned to make a distinction between the emotional patterns of Arjuna and Amritray. He hoped that one day he’d be able to interpret those patterns.

“Will I ever be able to communicate with you mind to mind?” he asked Arjuna; Amritray was currently piloting the _Maru_. The young man shrugged.

“I don’t know, my lord. Emotions are easy, especially strong ones. Even those who don’t have the Gift themselves can pick them up easily, after enough training. Pictures made up in one’s mind are a little more complicated, but still doable if the sender’s Gift is strong enough. Thoughts, however… thoughts are really hard to learn for those without the Gift.”

“But you can still read _my_ thoughts, right?” Tyr asked. Arjuna nodded.

“Assuming you would aim them directly at me. I can’t pick them up randomly… or against your will. It doesn’t work that way. Your mind is remarkably organized. But let me try something…”

He looked Tyr directly in the eyes. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then Tyr felt something… not quite a voice, but the mental equivalent of it. Unfortunately, all he could figure out was the fact that he had been asked a question.

“This will take a lot more training, I’m afraid,” he said.

Arjuna nodded. “Of course. It took us years to figure out how it works among ourselves – and we both have the Gift. It hasn’t taken us long with you, since we now both know how to initiate an approach… and you were being very accepting. It will remain one-sided, though, I guess.”

“Will you be able to accept orders from me, given mind to mind only?” Tyr asked. Arjuna thought about it.

“I believe so,” he finally answered. “Due to the bond, we’ve already become attuned to you, so with proper training… yes, it will be possible. Or to alert you wordlessly, in case of emergencies.”

“That’s enough for me,” Tyr said. “There are things I’ll have to do in the not so distant future, for which I’ll need your help. Tell me: can you read other people without them noticing it?”

Arjuna shrugged.

“I can try. There are no guarantees. It depends on the species, the individual shielding and discipline… on many things. Nightsiders are the easiest. They are so possessed by their greed that they never care to shield their thoughts. Than are the hardest. Their minds are so alien, I probably couldn’t interpret what’s happening in them when they invited me in.”

“What about humans? And our own people?”

“There are no general rules,” Arjuna said. “The bottom line is, the more intelligent a certain person is, the more sophisticated his mind is, the harder it is to read them against their will or without their cooperation.”

“I see,” Tyr thought about it for a moment. “I don’t want anyone aboard the _Andromeda_ to know about this… Gift of yours. Or about the Omega oath. To everyone else, you’re just some orphans I picked up on Haukin Vora, so that my First Wife can have some company – and protection.”

“But surely, you’ll tell the truth your First Wife, my lord?” Arjuna asked, uncomfortable with the thought of lying to the future Matriarch of his new Pride.

“Not yet,” Tyr replied. “I do trust her, and she rarely slips – in fact, she hasn’t slipped so far – but we are watched aboard that ship, even if ‘privacy mode’ is established. I don’t trust that so-called privacy, not when it comes to me and my family. I’m quite certain that Dylan has the ship monitor our every moment – and your presence will only raise his suspicions. I’ll tell Freya everything, as soon as we can get down to another Drift or make a trip with the _Maru_. Your Gift is an advantage I’d like to hide from the others. It can come in handy later.”

Arjuna nodded. “Understood, my lord. Are you telling them – or your First Wife – about the extension of your family?”

“No,” Tyr said. “I’ll tell Freya, of course, as soon as we’ll have a truly private moment. But the others mustn’t know about my alliances. And since we’re talking about secrecy already – you’ll address me by my name, all the time we’re aboard Dylan’s ship. The honorary title would give us away in a second. Dylan is more familiar with Nietzschean customs than most humans.”

“Yes, my… yes, Tyr. As you wish.”

“Excellent,” Tyr touched the still slightly swollen part with the invisible tattoo on Arjuna’s forehead, re-establishing his dominance through the ritual touch and the mild pain it still caused. Then he turned to Amritray. “What’s our ETA to Ornithrone?”

“Six hours, forty-five minutes, my… Tyr,” she replied crisply. Tyr allowed himself a faint smile.

“Very well. Arjuna, take over. Amritray, get some rest. I’ll do the same. We must be rested and alert by the time we reach the _Andromeda_.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fairly different take on _The Mathematics of Tears_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of dialogue are modified versions of what was said in _The Mathematics of Tears_. The indigenous species of Ornithrone – with the exception of the canonical _mandelbrots_ – are my creation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 14 - The Ghost Ship of Tau Ceti VI**

A week after Tyr’s departure, the mood aboard the _Andromeda Ascendant_ was still beyond rotten. Dylan was still fuming silently on the command deck or in his own quarters. Beka still ignored him pointedly, using the uncommon length of free time - not disturbed by any life-threatening emergencies, for a change – to flirt with Iason Havila, whom she found absolutely gorgeous. Havila showed equal interest for her, and after they agreed to avoid such sensitive topics as musical taste, they went along rather amiably. Beka even learned to enjoy seafood.

Harper missed Trance but found the continued presence of the two Perseids more than inspiring. As he’d never received a proper education, picking up bits and pieces of useful knowledge wherever he could, he benefited greatly from Höhne’s willingness to fill the gaping holes in his theoretical education and the Perseid’s talent to teach. Harper assumed that he’d absorbed about three semesters’ worth of university teachings since Höhne came aboard. Besides, Rekeeb was an enthusiastic partner in coming up with a new and exciting – and completely hair-raising – scientific theory every other day. In other words, aside from the lack of female company, Harper was having the time of his life.

Rev Bem enjoyed the quiet time as well. Unlikely as it seemed, he’d managed to build a semi-friendly relationship with Arkazha, the Castalian representative, talking with her about languages and philosophy – through the intercom system, as he disliked getting his fur wet. His human companions tended to complain about the stench.

The Than, as always, mostly kept to themselves, although they still appeared for duty on the command deck, and the Workers continued to work for Harper in the machine shops. Born to Starfire barely left her quarters, indulging herself in long, intricate diplomatic correspondence with various Than worlds and foreign governments.

All in all, it had been a peaceful week – at least on the surface. Tensions kept brooding below, though, and finally Beka decided to extend the proverbial olive branch, since it obviously couldn’t be expected from their self-righteous captain to make the first step. Even though she was right and he was wrong.

From _her_ point of view anyway. Dylan would _never_ admit that, of course. Fortunately, she knew just the thing that would – hopefully – get him out of his brooding mood again.

When she reached Dylan’s quarters, he could hear him rant to Rommie right on the other side of the door. Soundproof modus wasn’t on, apparently. Even though she couldn’t hear everything, she caught a few stray words like ‘my mission’, ‘civilization’, ‘order’ and ‘progress’, which gave her a fairly good idea about the rest. Dylan was venting about crew performances again, it seemed.

She suppressed an irritated sigh – for the time being, she wanted to stay on the _Andromeda_ , and that meant she had to make certain sacrifices, like restraining herself from throttling the captain – and pushed the door buzzer.

“Dylan, may I come in?” she asked over comm.

There was no answer, but the door opened almost immediately. She stepped in, glancing at Dylan’s clouded face.

“What is it?” Dylan asked.

“And a nice day to you, too,” Beka replied blithely. “I got an idea, Captain mine. Since we're on our way to Ornithrone anyway, you might want to look at this in your spare time.”

She handed him a flexi, which Dylan eyed suspiciously, as if expecting it to bite him.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Gerentex' list of derelict High Guard ships,” Beka explained. “Or suspected ones, anyway.”

For the first time in a week, there was a sparkle of interest in Dylan’s pale eyes. “More ships like the _Andromeda_?”

“Ships of various sorts,” Beka shrugged. “Salvaging a High Guard ship of the line was an obsession for him. We looked at five other possibilities before we found you, but there are over thirty more leads.”

A captainly eyebrow climbed slowly higher. “What were those five possibilities?”

“Well,” Beka started to count it off on her fingers, “first of them was the ghost ship at Herodotus, of course, the ultimate goal of every insane treasure hunter. It has become something of a legend among salvagers for being a place none had ever returned from. I managed to persuade Gerentex that it wouldn’t be such a good idea. Then there were the slipfighters in the asteroid belt in Mitalbo, which proved a dead end, just as I’d told Gerentex, but he insisted that we try anyway, hoping to find their nonexistent mother ship. Then there was the _Clarion’s Call_ , a Lancer Ground Troop Transport that assumedly made it out of the Tartarus Shipyard, but got captured again, this time by Nightsiders, and became a casino. Not to mention the Tartarus Shipyard itself, which is supposed to hold enough High Guard ships captive to make up two complete battle groups…”

“Really?” Finally, Dylan was showing true interest. “Now _that_ would be a catch in a century or so.”

“Yeah,” Beka snorted, the only problem is that nobody knows where in the three galaxies Tartarus is, since no star chart anyone has found has such a place listed.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Dylan scowled. “A few more High Guard ship would be very helpful in our quest to restore the Commonwealth. And what was the fifth possibility?”

Beka shrugged. “It’s probably just a myth. There were rumours about a huge and extremely dangerous starship the Free Trade Alliance was having trouble with. Unfortunately, nobody ever lived through such an encounter to tell the tale. So we didn’t even bother to look – the _Maru_ is no match for a warship. And that was when Gerentex decided to go after the _Andromeda_.”

Dylan shot her a suspicious look. “Is this an attempt to make nice?”

Beka bit back a remark about not _needing_ to make nice with him just in time. She _did_ need to make nice with him, at least until something better came along. And the _Andromeda_ could be very useful for finding that better opportunity.

“Did it work?” she asked back brightly. Dylan nodded slowly.

“Yeah, it did. And I already know which one of your leads we’re going to follow.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Harper glared at them as if they had told him they were about to visit Brandenburg Tor.

“You want to go hunting for the ghost ship of Tau Ceti Six?” he asked incredulously. “Have you lost your mind, both of you?”

Beka rolled her eyes. “Harper, we spent four months checking out those old wrecks. What's wrong with that ship?

“You’re asking me?” Harper retorted angrily. “Every salvage mission that's been to this system has disappeared – even those old pirates out at Winnipeg Drift say it's cursed.”

“Cursed,” Dylan repeated blankly. Talking to Harper was sometimes like trying to wade through muddy water: one never knew what would resurface to bite one’s flank.

Harper shot him a defensive yet unyielding look.

“Yes,” he said stubbornly. “Cursed. It glitters like gold, but if you see it, you never come back.”

“Harper,” Beka said with forced patience. “That's a myth!”

“ _Andromeda_ was a myth!” Harper reminded her seriously.

“And one with a happy ending,” Dylan said with his professional optimism. “Now maybe lightning will strike twice.”

“That's _exactly_ what I’m afraid of,” Harper pointed out. “I could live happily without ever finding that cursed ship. Especially now, that my life standards have gotten so dramatically better. I’d hate to give up all this, you know.”

“But Harper, you should see the scientific possibilities here!” Höhne intervened, while Rekeeb was busily nodding in agreement. “We’d get the chance to study Commonwealth technology first hand, to compare it with _Andromeda_ , maybe to learn how to make modifications or even improvements…”

“I can make improvements without getting in the way of a cursed ship, thank you,” Harper was not persuaded at all. “I really, really don’t like this idea, Boss.”

“Don’t worry, Harper,” Beka replied with a grin, “we won’t start this mission before Tyr gets back from visiting his relatives.”

“And that should put me at ease?” Harper asked with a demonstrative eyeroll. “Cursed ghost ship on one side, homicidal, psychopathic _Über_ s on the other side – that’s gonna be a jolly good ride... not!”

“Amazing as it sounds, I tend to agree,” Radiance of Wisdom, currently manning the scientific console, commented dryly. “But I fear we have no chance against two excited Perseids and one determined High Guard captain. Nonetheless, I suggest that you talk to the representatives of your allies on board before you start this little quest, Captain Hunt.”

“I intend to,” Dylan said. “And I’m sure they’ll agree with me that the advantages of finding another intact High Guard ship are outweighing any potential risks.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Harper found Ornithrone the most beautiful planet he’d ever visited - well, right after Infinity Atoll, of course. It was almost entirely covered by a turquoise ocean, with only a few large islands poking out of the water. It had four indigenous species, the dominant one of them a race of highly intelligent avians who, when not travelling in the air, wore their great wings folded on their backs like a shiny cape and whose heads were covered with fine, fluffy feathers instead of hair. The feathery brows and lashes gave them a decidedly exotic touch.

The other three species were: a race of sentient sea-mammals that vaguely resembled of the now-extinct Terran seals, and whom the others called the _Singers_ ; a race of small but very aggressive insectoids that served as the planetary defence forces and were known to have given both Nietzscheans and the FTA a bloody nose on several occasions; and, of course, the _Mandelbrots_ themselves. _Mandelbrot_ s were, despite the silly name given them by some unknown researcher, a race of sentient, extremely long-living amphibians. With an expected lifespan of six to seven hundred years, it was understandable that they only spawned once in a century.

As they still had to wait for Tyr’s arrival, Harper used the time to go planetside and enjoy the sun and the sea. He’d have welcomed the chance to surf, but with all the strands covered with glittering _Mandelbrot_ tadpoles squirming free from their cradles deep under seawater and sand, that was just not possible. The adults – disturbingly large, mollusc-like beings with sad, bulbous eyes and wide, fringed mouths – would have quite literally killed anyone who’d tried to enter the water and thus harm their spawn.

It was a pity to waste such perfect waves, but Harper didn’t mind too much. The sight of the turquoise water, the light of the twin suns reflecting on the white crest of the waves, the slow and heart-achingly beautiful, wordless song of the _Singers_ over the water was more than enough to compensate him for the lost opportunity to surf.

“A beautiful world, isn’t it?” a soft, purring voice asked, and Farrendahl lowered herself onto the sand, gingerly avoiding wet places. Her sleek, black fur shone in the dual light of Ornithrone’s suns like polished metal. “I’ve been looking forward to visiting it for quite some time.”

“I thought Makra don’t leave their homeworld often,” Harper said absently, his attention captured by a flock of _Avians_ circling above the ocean in tight formation. They wore form-fitting jumpers and leggings in the same colour as their wings and really looked like large, brightly coloured birds.

“Usually, we don’t,” Farrendahl agreed, “but I’m a researcher. Researchers do visit other worlds – to learn, to teach, to exchange knowledge. I’ve been to dozens of worlds. But not one of them was as untouched as this one.”

“Well, Makrai VII isn’t so bad, either,” Harper offered, a little uncertainly. He had only visited the lush jungle world of the Makra once, and though he’d found it pretty, his impressions were mixed at best.

“Not bad,” Farrendahl replied bitterly. “It used to be a marvel, a virtual paradise. Our people have kept it in perfect balance for countless centuries – until the FTA began strip-mining it. Now the natural balance is on the verge of collapse, and if nothing happens to make them stop, all we’ll have left would be a polluted dung heap of a planet.”

“The FTA is a pack of sharks,” Harper agreed. “They’re almost as bad as the Nightsiders… and that is saying a lot.”

“And many of us sink low enough to sell out their services to our oppressors,” Farrendahl added darkly. “Spineless collaborators who are more concerned about their own survival than about that of the entire planet.”

“Tyr would highly commend such an attitude,” Harper tried to lighten the mood with a lame joke.

“He’s a Nietzschean,” Farrendahl rose gracefully, “and Nietzscheans are the most self-centered and ruthless beings in the galaxies.”

“No argument from here,” Harper said. The Makra stared at him from intense yellow eyes.

“Then you should be smart enough to never trust them,” she replied.

“I don’t,” Harper said. “No Earth-born _kludge_ in their right mind ever would. But I... kinda _like_ Tyr,” he added with a helpless shrug.

“And therein lies the danger,” the Makra warned. “Liking him could easily lead to trusting him. And trusting him would get you nothing but a messy death, sooner or later.”

Harper glared at her in suspicion. “You _know_ something, don’t you?”

“Me?” Farrendahl flicked her tail in a negative gesture. “No. But he’s definitely hiding something – and Captain Hunt would do better to find out what that is.”

“We’re all hiding something,” Harper replied with another shrug. “You as much as the rest of us, Ms Catwoman.”

“That’s true,” Farrendahl admitted, one tufted ear twitching in amusement.

Harper was just warming up to try getting more information out of her when Trance came running up enthusiastically, purple tail meandering after her like an agitated snake.

“They’re here!” she cried out happily.

“Who are ‘they’?” Harper asked patiently. Trance’s eyes widened at the obvious stupidity of the question.

“Why, Tyr and his people, of course,” she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Dylan Hunt's mood hadn't improved a bit in recent days. He'd tried to talk the planetary council of Ornithrone into joining the New Commonwealth – and failed, since he couldn't promise any immediate protection that would have been better than the defences the inhabitants of this world already had. To his utmost annoyance, Born of Starfire, on the other hand, _had_ managed to negotiate a treaty between Ornithrone and the Than Hegemony – albeit a temporary one. The insectoids wanted better weapons to protect their world and the Than could provide those weapons. All _Dylan_ could offer was a vague alliance of some insignificant backwater planets – well, aside from Sintii IV, that is. The choice between the two offers was depressingly obvious.

Arkhaza and her attaché were off visiting the _Singers_ in their underwater dwellings, and there could be no doubt that Castalia would count Ornithrone as one of their allies in no time. That, at the very least, gave Dylan _some_ hope. Castalia was a member of the New Commonwealth - perhaps its allies will follow one day.

He didn't go down to the planet again. He wasn't interested in the over-crowded beaches... or in the spawning giant molluscs with that ridiculous name... or in the flying skills of the _Avians_... or in the concerts of the _Singers_... or, to be honest, in the enthusiasm of his own crew. He preferred to remain aboard the _Andromeda_ and brood in peace.

Consequently, he was the only one present to witness Tyr's return – save for Rommie, of course, but that was a given.

"Tyr," he said with forced joviality, while his cold, pale eyes measured the beautiful pair of youths flanking the Nietzschean. "How good of you to join us again."

"I'm well within time," Tyr replied with a shrug. "I can't see any agitated crewmembers eagerly awaiting start here."

"You are unusually cheerful today," Dylan said, his suspicion clearly visible. "I guess you were able to settle your... family matters, then."

"Indeed, I was, sir," Tyr suppressed a grin, seeing the captain's annoyance. He wouldn't offer any bits of further information without being asked first. Hunt would never be able to make him talk, unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Care to introduce your... entourage?" Dylan asked after a moment of silence, as expected. Humans were so predictable.

"Certainly," Tyr replied amiably. "Arjuna, Amritray, this is Dylan Hunt, captain of the _Andromeda Ascendant_. Captain Hunt, these are two orphans from Völsung Pride; siblings, as you can surely see. I've brought them with me, as they have no living relatives left. They are to provide company and protection to my wife."

"I see," Dylan's eyes narrowed. He was no fool and could recognize a warrior when he saw one. "And it never occurred to you to _ask_ first?"

"No," Tyr said matter-of-factly. "They are family. And they won't be any trouble. They'll keep to themselves, unless you want them to help out with duty shifts. Both are skilled pilots and know their way around an engine room."

"That won't be necessary," Dylan said. "We've got enough pilots, and Harper gets the work done just fine. He's got the Worker bugs and the Perseids to help him, if necessary."

Tyr raised an eyebrow. "Congratulations. You've begun to develop some survival instincts, after all. I'm proud of you. Nevertheless, the offer stands."

He gave Dylan a nonchalant look and left, the twin warriors in tow, their beautiful, identical faces unreadable. Dylan glared after them uneasily for a long while.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Learning that Dylan had decided to go hunting for 'the ghost ship of Tau Ceti Six', as Harper called it, almost made Tyr revive his decision not to erase the core AI on the spot and take command over the _Andromeda_. Of all the suicide missions Hunt had appointed himself and his crew already, this one was by far the most insane one.

"If that ship is more than a mere myth, we're flying straight into a death trap," he said to Höhne angrily. They were sitting in the mess hall of the _Maru_ , the freighter being the only place where the _Andromeda_ 's internal sensors couldn't monitor them.

Höhne nodded. "We could be dealing with a High Guard ship there, the AI of which has gone mad," he said. He was uncharacteristically serious, which made Tyr even more uneasy. A serious Perseid was a very worried Perseid – and Perseids, as a rule, didn't panic easily.

"Have you heard of such a thing to happen?" he asked.

"There were a few recorded cases, yes, "Höhne answered thoughtfully. "All of them happened when a ship had to spend an unusually long time without a crew -- or at least a commanding officer. AIs can prevail an unbelievably long time, but without a purpose, they tend to become unstable. Even the best models. And a battleship with an unstable core AI _would_ be a death trap indeed."

"Would you be capable of reprogramming such an AI?" Tyr inquired.

"I'm not sure," Höhne replied with an uncertain shrug. "I'm not an experienced programmer -- my main area is the invention of new technology. But with proper help and enough time to study the ship in question... perhaps. I cannot guarantee the success, though. I'm sorry. Maybe if the core AI would be completely erased, so that we could program anew one from the scratch..."

"What if I _could_ get that done... theoretically?" Tyr asked. "And, still theoretically, what if I could also provide you with the help of a highly skilled programmer? Would you be interested in cooperation?"

Höhne's dark, intelligent eyes glittered in the most calculating way. "It depends. What would be in it for me?"

"Unlimited access to study the ship's database and technology," Tyr answered promptly.

"But he ship itself would be yours... theoretically," Höhne said slowly.

Tyr nodded. "Of course. My family needs a home. A safe one."

"Your... _family_ ," Höhne repeated. "I assume it is large enough to man the stations of vital importance."

"I can bring up a skeleton crew," Tyr said. "No more than the _Andromeda_ had at the beginning of our journey together. Not before I call in... allies."

"Enough allies to run any ship we might find?" Höhne asked, one hairless eyebrow raised. Tyr nodded again.

"If necessary. But I'd prefer an engineer who doesn't owe _them_ any loyalty. Would you happen to know one?"

"Perhaps," Höhne said noncommittally. "If you managed to persuade me that helping you to get your hands on that ship would be more advantageous for me – and for Sintii IV – than giving it, in case it does exist in the first place of course, to the New Commonwealth. Why should I wish to help you?"

"Perhaps because that way you wouldn't have to share it with Castalia or other backwater planets?" Tyr suggested.

"Only with you and your... allies," Höhne said. Tyr began to lose patience with him.

"Listen... Director," he said. "I don't know how much intelligence you get on Sintii IV, but Magog activity has been increasing for a while. The destruction of the Dyhedra System only brought us temporary relief. They will come. And when they do, your pathetic planetary defence system won't be much help. Not against them, not against the Restorians, and not against the FTA, should they decide to take an interest in your world."

"And you are offering protection in exchange for technical knowledge?" Höhne asked, his tone highly doubtful. Tyr shook his head.

"No. I'm offering an alliance against a common enemy. An alliance that would ensure the survival of both your planet and my family. I need your knowledge. You need my strength. It's that simple."

"What could one ship do?" Höhne shrugged. Even if it were a _Siege Perilous_ class starship killer, it would only be _one_ ship. It couldn't be everywhere."

Tyr hesitated for a moment. Then, slowly, emphasizing every single word, he said. "We. Are. Not. Talking. About. Just. _One_. Ship."

"I see," Höhne said, understanding that the Nietzschean couldn't reveal more. Not yet, at least. "Let's consider this an... unofficial agreement between the two of us. A... one-time thing. But I want the blueprints of that ship - still assuming there _is_ one to begin with."

"You'll get them," Tyr said. "By the bones of the forefathers, I swear this."

Höhne, apparently familiar with the formal mode of Nietzschean discourse and its ramifications, accepted the promise without any further questions.

"We should go now," was all he said. "I don't want to make Captain Hunt suspicious."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
A few slipstream transits later the _Andromeda_ reached the coordinates of planet Herodotus. Radiance of Wisdom switched on the external sensors, and the image that appeared on the main viewer was – that of a large asteroid field. The various-sized chunks of dead rock were so densely together that it seemed near impossible for the _Andromeda_ to navigate through them safely.

“Strange,” the Sapphire Than wiggled her antennae; this time it signalled confusion. “Our star charts don't register any asteroid belts in the Tau Ceti system. Shouldn’t we be approaching the sixth planet by now?”

“Herodotus,” Beka said from the command chair. “It’s called Herodotus, Wisdom. And yeah, we should. The only problem is, the planet doesn’t seem to be here.”

“That's because it's a _ghost_ planet haunted by a _ghost_ ship,” Harper, currently piloting the ship, muttered self-mockingly, but there was real fear in his blue eyes. Tyr wondered what sort of horror stories the boy had been fed with back on Earth. Mudfoots seemed to have a thing for gothic tales. As if the Drago-Kazov and the Magog hadn’t been horror enough.

“Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” he snorted. “Ghosts don’t exist.”

 _Only in the minds of frightened kludges_ , he wanted to add, but decided against it. No need to antagonize the engineer. He wasn’t really worried about hurting Harper’s feelings – why should he care? – but he might need the assistance of the little human yet. It was better to keep their relationship amiable.

“Are you sure?” Harper asked warily, listening to the unusual static that could be heard through the comm system. “What the hell is _this_ then?”

“Sounds like voice transmission for me,” Beka replied dryly. “Wisdom, can you clear it up a little?”

“I can try,” the Than worked on her station with the single-minded determination so typical for her kind. The static became louder, and she wiggled her antennae again, apparently irritated by the noise.

“Any idea where it’s coming from?” Beta asked. Radiance of Wisdom shrugged apologetically.

“Afraid not. I can't triangulate its source. There are too many rocky surfaces - the signal is practically ricocheting back and forth between them.”

“Try to calculate the path of the signal, based on the grade of intensity loss,” Harper suggested, although he had paled considerably during the recent minutes.

Radiance of Wisdom nodded and made the necessary calculations - in her head. She only used the computer to check her results.

“That should do it,” she finally said. “Harper, I can give you a course that follows the path of the signal backwards – hopefully, to its very source.”

“Hopefully,” Harper murmured with dark irony, maneuvering the huge starship through the narrow passages between asteroids. The voice transmission became more understandable – an eerie babbling about tears and what is the mathematics of tears… obviously the mutterings of a troubled mind.

“Oh, great,” Harper groaned, rolling his eyes. “Disembodied voices and nothing to send them. It would make a good holomovie title: ‘The Curse of the Haunted Starship’, or something like that.”

“Let’s take a look at the source, then,” Beka ordered.

Harper gave her a dirty look but steered the _Andromeda_ around a particularly big asteroid obediently – only to stiffen in his chair. Behind the asteroid, there was a ship that looked just like the _Andromeda_ itself… just gold.

“That, ladies, gentlemen and beings in-between,” Tyr said slowly, “is a High Guard starship.”

“Yeah,” Harper muttered, looking uneasier than ever, “and it glitters _gold_.”

“Harper, snap out of it,” Beka ordered sternly. “We should call Dylan.”

“Good idea,” Harper nodded. “Where is he anyway? I though he wanted to be here when we make the big discovery… whatever it might be.”

“He’s going over security logs with Rommie,” Beka told him. “They’ve been at it for an hour or so. I wonder what might have triggered _that_ reaction,” she added, with a sideways glance at Tyr.

The Nietzschean smirked but didn’t pick up the gauntlet. Instead, he switched on the com system and hailed Dylan’s quarters.

“I think you should come to the command deck,” he told the captain without preamble. “It seems that we’ve found Harper’s ‘ghost ship’, after all.”


	16. Reunion

**Chapter 15 - Reunion**

Dylan arrived in record time, Rommie in tow. Right on their heels, Rev Bem and the Perseids tumbled in. For the representatives of Castalia, Radiance of Wisdom initiated a live fed directly to their quarters, so that they could follow everything that would happen. It was their resting period and they couldn’t leave their maritime environment at the moment. The Than also sent a live fed to the quarters of her own leader – Born to Starfire was in one of her misanthropic moods again. At least she didn’t have to bother with Farrendahl. The Makra and Trance had chosen to remain on Ornithrone for a while… to Dylan’s dismay.

Right now, however, the good captain didn’t seem to sulk about Trance’s absence. Both he and Rommie were staring at he main viewscreen with obvious recognition – and a great deal of nostalgia.

“I think I know that ship,” Dylan murmured. “It is…”

“The _Pax Magellanic_ ,” Rommie finished for him.

The name very obviously didn’t ring a bell by any of the others present. No one else had ever heard of that ship before. They looked at each other in confusion.

“She looks just like you, Rommie,” Beka finally offered, somewhat lamely.

“Yeah,” Harper muttered ominously. “Only _gold_.”

Tyr rolled his eyes but restrained himself from giving the boy a lecture about ridiculous suspicions. Rommie, on the other hand, looked positively awestruck.

“She's my older sister,” she whispered. If androids could get misty eyes, she certainly would have.

The others turned to Dylan; identical blank looks on their faces. Dylan sighed. Sometimes he found it bothersome to explain to his ragtag crew the simplest things in the universe… or in the long-gone Commonwealth.

“In a manner of speaking, that’s even true,” he explained. “The _Pax Magellanic_ was – well she apparently still is – a _Glorious Heritage_ class cruiser. She used to be one of the first such vessels assigned to the High Guard.”

Rommie was watching the apparently battered golden ship on the screen mournfully.

“Everyone looked up to her,” she lamented. “On her first mission, she saved Princess Sucrayat's yacht from a Magog attack. She was honoured by triumvirs and empresses, but now... look at her. I’ve never seen her in such a sorry shape.”

Tyr was having a hard time to keep quiet. Granted, High Guard ships _were_ sentient, but speaking about them as if they were real persons was simply ridiculous. He didn’t know who the hell Princess Sucrayat might have been, and quite frankly, he didn’t care. But knowing that the other ship had already successfully fought the Magog was a reassuring thought.

Ignoring Dylan’s pep talk to Rommie, Tyr sought out Höhne’s eyes, and the Perseid nodded. It was a barely perceivable nod, but enough for Tyr to know that Höhne had understood the importance of that particular piece of information. They would need to download the _Pax_ protocols and study them carefully, before reprogramming – or replacing – the core AI. The experiences collected during the _Pax_ ’ previous battles must _not_ get lost.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After several futile efforts to establish radio contact with the other ship, Dylan decided to pay the _Pax_ a personal visit. He chose Harper and Rommie to accompany him, but in the end he came around to taking Beka and the two Perseids with him as well. Beka simply refused to let anyone else fly the _Maru_ , declaring that her poor ship had suffered enough under Tyr’s heartless treatment of her. And Höhne reminded the good captain that as the official representative of Sintii IV, he was entitled to examine every new piece of Commonwealth technology they might come across, and that he needed Rekeeb to help him.

Rommie gave him a decidedly unfriendly look about the phrasing of his request, but the Perseid was already too excited to care. He adjusted and readjusted his hand-held scanner and recording device, babbling enthusiastically about new possibilities, unique chances of learning and so on with Rekeeb, bombarding his assistant with new instructions every other minute. No one aside from Tyr could see the calculating and wary look of his dark eyes under that mask of cheerful prattle.

It wasn’t a surprise for anyone that Dylan had decided _not_ to take Tyr with him. The least surprised was Tyr himself. He had tried the good captain’s patience one time too often, obviously. So he could only hope that Höhne would honour their newly found alliance and take a good, close look at the _Pax_ core AI. He hadn’t handed the virus over to the Perseid, of course. It was the proverbial ace up his proverbial sleeve; it would have been foolish to give up his main advantage.

They would have to wait until he, too, could go aboard the _Pax_ – but that wasn’t going to take long. Given Dylan’s unique talent to get any team of his into deep trouble in record time, they’d need the cavalry sooner or later. So Tyr relaxed on the command deck of the _Andromeda_ and watched the events on the viewscreen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Dylan’s team boarded the _Maru_ , and they made their long way carefully towards the other ship. The _Pax_ grew gradually on the small freighter’s main screen, glittering with a golden, almost otherworldly beauty. For a moment even Höhne’s prattle ceased, and he stared at the golden ship with naked admiration.

“She’s a beauty, a real beauty,” he muttered. “Do you think that you’ll find your way around her, Captain Hunt?”

Dylan opened his mouth to answer, but Rommie was faster.

“Her deck plan is the same as mine,” she explained patiently. “We all should be able to find our way aboard.”

“The same deck plan, the same access panels, the same controls,” Tyr commented softly, watching on the big viewscreen of the command deck the _Maru_ sliding into the almost completely dark docking bay of the other ship. The _Pax_ glittered gold in the inside, too, and seemed in a much better shape than in the outside. A beauty indeed, albeit barely visible at the moment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Do you think they’ll be able to get the ship working again?” Glittering Starlight, currently sitting in the pilot’s chair, asked sceptically.

Tyr shrugged. “Who knows? They’ve got Harper and the Perseid with them. They’re good. We’ll see.”

“Probably,” the Than commented sarcastically. “If they ever find the light switch, that is. Of course, _my_ eyes would be able to see perfectly well with such limited illumination but Captain Hunt, in his eternal wisdom, chose not to take any of us with him.”

Tyr glanced at the semi-darkness on the viewscreen, then at the big compound eyes of the Than, and silently agreed. Sometimes he wondered if the human had truly lived through his three hundred year long timeless captivity in the event horizon mentally undamaged. Surely they had been taught in the High Guard how to choose the most suitable crewmembers for a landing party? Or could it be that Hunt mistrusted the Than as well? Just because they hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to join the still nonexistent New Commonwealth?

Tyr watched the events on the screen with avid interest. Would the Perseids be able to make the necessary modifications unnoticed? The modifications that, eventually, would gain them access to the core AI? And if they succeeded, would Höhne keep up his side of the bargain and hand over the ship to the Nietzscheans? Had Sinti IV suffered from Nietzschean raids often enough for the Technical Director to stab this particular Nietzschean in the back? Unlike Hunt, Tyr didn’t expect people to be trustworthy or to keep their promises. This fact had saved his life uncounted times.

He heard Hunt ordering Harper to give them some lights and the little engineer muttering, “Man, I really should shave those little hairs off the back of my neck.”

Harper was still clearly frightened; his scowling lacked any real fire – which was a bad sign. Ridiculous as Tyr found the human’s ghost stories, he also knew that Harper was the ultimate survivor. An unmodified human of his weak immune system and fragile constitution who managed nevertheless to survive on the Magog-infested Earth, under Drago-Kazov rule no less, had to have excellent survival instincts. And if those keen instincts now were screaming alarm, the others should listen to Harper, ghost stories or no ghost stories.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
In the meantime Harper had managed to bring a control console back to life, and the lights came up, bathing the corridor where the landing team was standing in soft, golden glow. Beka looked around with appreciation.

“Big sister, you said?” She asked Rommie. “More like identical twin, I’d say. Amazing…”

“What’s even more amazing is the state of the ship,” Dylan said. “Three hundred years later the air's still clean, the AG fields still work.”

“That could be an automatic reaction to the ship being boarded again,” Höhne suggested. “There’s no proof that anyone aboard is still alive.”

“What about the voice transmission we received?” Beka reminded him. Höhne shrugged.

“Could be some centuries-old message leaking out through a failing comm system by accident. We won’t know until we checked the main systems.”

“We should head to command, then,” Rommie said. “That’s the most likely place to find answers.”

That was finally something everyone agreed with, and they moved on in the direction Rommie had pointed out to them. They didn’t come far, though. As soon as the approached the next hatch, alarm claxons started going off, and shots were fired at them. Everyone scattered and dove for cover.

“Well,” Harper shouted from behind an unidentified piece of equipment, “at the very least the auto-security system's still activated – and working at top efficiency! I find that good in a warship.”

Dylan, rolling away from the firing line, called, “Deactivation code: Lexic Dark 52278 Alpha 771!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr stiffened in the command chair of the _Andromeda_. He hoped Freya was recording the events. He’d forgotten to ask her, but one could count on Freya in such things. If not… Well, Nietzschean memory, if not exactly eidetic, was still pretty good. And reconstructing Dylan’s voice pattern shouldn’t be too hard, if necessary.

The only problem was that the automatic security system wouldn’t accept the deactivation code.

“They must have overridden the original codes,” Tyr realized, and he Ruby Than wiggled her antennae in agreement.

“Whoever ‘they’ are,” she said. “And since Captain Hunt hasn’t taken any well-trained warriors with him, he might have a problem right now.”

Fortunately for the landing party, the hatch opened now, revealing some people, clad in proper High Guard uniform, and the clear, authoritative voice of a woman ordered, “Hold fire! Deactivate defence system!”

The shots ceased in a nanosecond. Glittering Starlight’s antennae stiffened in surprise.

“There was no deactivation code,” she commented in a low voice.

“No,” Tyr agreed slowly, “there wasn’t. Interesting, isn’t it?”

He watched with interest as the _Pax_ crew entered the corridor to meet their visitors. They were led by a tall, athletic woman who had a smooth face with high cheekbones, wide, ice blue eyes, a sensuous mouth and long, shining hair of the same golden hue as the Pax’ interior. She radiated a strong command presence and obviously had a great deal of authority. If not for the lack of forearm spikes, one could have mistaken her for a Nietzschean.

At the moment, however, she was staring at Hunt with very human astonishment.

“You… you're High Guard,” she whispered in awe.

“Captain Dylan Hunt from the _Andromeda Ascendant_ ,” Dylan told her, delighted to finally have found someone who’d appreciate his long gone status. She looked properly impressed.

“Lieutenant Jill Pierce of the _Pax Magellanic_ ,” she replied, and then she gestured to the dark-skinned man on her side. “And this is my ship's engineer, Hideki Osaka.”

Damn, that was bad. Höhne might have been able to sabotage the ship’s AI, but not with the _Pax_ ’ engineer looking over his shoulder. Tyr’s mind raced, weighing the possibilities. It was still too early to include Harper in his plans – the little professor had major trust issues when it came to Nietzscheans in general and Tyr in particular. They’d have to wait and look for opportunities. Who’d have thought that the ship still had a crew?

The same question must have occupied Beka’s mind, because she asked the engineer (who’d just told them to call him ’Dutch’, stating that everyone else did anyway), “Are you descendants of the original crew?”

There was a moment of silence. Then Pierce shook her head.”

“No,” she replied simply. “We _are_ the original crew.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“That’s impossible,” Radiance of Wisdom emphasized. “According to the readings, they are humans. They’ve had some genetic modifications, like almost everyone else, to make them more resistant to radiation, and that Pierce person has apparently had a Nietzschean somewhere up her family tree if I can trust her genetic make-up, but they are still _humans_. And human tissue isn’t designed to remain unchanged for three centuries. No way.”

“She assumed it’s a side effect of whatever weapons the Nietzscheans used to blow up Herodotus,” Rev Bem reminded the Than. 

Tyr snorted. “That’s highly unlikely.”

“Why?” Arkazha asked. They were having a video-conference, so that the Castalians wouldn’t have to leave their maritime quarters.

“Because the Nietzscheans were just about to win the battle,” Born to Starfire answered. “The _Pax Magellanic_ was sent to rescue the detachment of Lancers who’d been pinned down by Nietzschean ground forces on the planet’s surface. The Lancers were under the command of General Sky Falls in Thunder, one of our greatest war heroes.”

“I’ve heard of her,” Rommie’s holographic image flickered to life. “She was a teacher of the High Guard’s Advanced Studies Institute, on Patterson’s World… a most excellent strategist.”

“That didn’t help her much, obviously, “Born to Starfire said. “The last message that had got out from her was a distress call… that her forces were encircled. We’ve never heard anything else about her – until now.”

“What a coincidence,” Arkazha commented dryly.

“What ones see as coincidence, others may interpret as the guidance of the Divine,” Rev Bem said placidly. That earned him another derisive snort, but no comment, from Tyr.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Born to Starfire said. She turned to look directly at Tyr, which was an interesting attempt, considering that she was still in her quarters. But the famous Than orientation skills worked their wonder once again. “What sort of Nietzschean weapon could have been capable of blowing up an entire planet?”

“A Maximum Charge, containing two AS4V,” Tyr replied without hesitation. “We haven’t developed anything with more destructive power in the last three hundred years. Unless someone has Nova bombs, of course.”

“Could an analysis of the planetary debris reveal the use of either of those weapons?” Arkazha asked. Tyr nodded.

“Without any doubt. The decay of such remains begins only after half a millennium.”

“Then Wisdom should run the analysis,” Born to Starfire suggested.

“You don’t believe Lieutenant Pierce?” Iason Havila, who’d been listening quietly all the time, asked. 

The Diamond Than wiggled her antennae signalling the equivalent of a shrug. “I find it hard to believe that the Nietzscheans – _any_ Nietzscheans – would destroy a habitable world. Particularly when they were standing on it. They are out to conquer, not to kill their own people just to make a point.”

“There are also natural causes like geologic instabilities or asteroid collisions,” Havila said.

“We should try to rule out natural causes as well,” Tyr said.

“Do you also think they’re lying to us… to Captain Hunt?” Havila asked.

“They can lie to Dylan, since he’s willing to believe them, while we are not,” Tyr corrected. “But they’re definitely hiding something. They must have a reason to hide in this asteroid field.”

“A reason aside from the fact that the planet’s explosion destroyed their slipstream drive?” Arkazha asked. Tyr snorted again.

“I’m not Harper, so I cannot say with certainty that it’s impossible, but… destroying the slipstream drive only, while the ship as a whole is relatively unharmed… just how likely is _that_?”

All eyes turned to Radiance of Wisdom, who shook her head.

“I can’t tell,” she said. “I’m not an engineer. But perhaps someone should get over to that ship and consult Mr. Harper discretely?”

“By ‘someone’ you mean me, don’t you?” Tyr asked sarcastically. The Sapphire Than wiggled her antennae.

“I’d suggest that you don’t go alone,” she replied.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Harper disconnected himself from the _Pax_ ’ control panel and blinked at the two Perseids in confusion.

“I don’t get it. There's nothing wrong with the AI's automated connection. It's still hooked into the power grid.”

“What about the neural net?” Höhne asked.

“Seems to be sound,” Harper replied with a shrug. 

The Perseid frowned. “Can the core sentience be buried?”

Harper shrugged again. “Yeah. Perhaps. I dunno. It’s like it is in a coma.”

“That sounds unlikely,” Rekeeb commented.

“Not any more unlikely than a planetary explosion damaging nothing but the slipstream drive,” Harper replied. “At any rate, we need a closer look. I’ll enter the _Pax_ ’ VR matrix.”

“No,” Höhne said. “Let the _Andromeda_ avatar do it. If the matrix is damaged, it could fry your neural net.”

“That’s exactly why _I must_ go there,” Harper argued. “If the core AI is damaged, she could short-circuit Rommie and send a feedback loop through her to the _Andromeda_.”

“True enough,” Höhne nodded. “But I want Rekeeb to go in with you – as a precaution. Perhaps between the two of you, you can find out what’s wrong.”

“If the system is too badly damaged, we may have to rewire the entire neural network,” Rekeeb added.

Harper made a wry face, calculating the amount of work _that_ would take, even with the help of the _Pax_ ’ engineer. Who didn’t seem to have achieved much in three hundred years, by the way.

“But what if we can’t fix it?” he asked.

“Then we’d have to erase the core AI and start over from the scratch,” Höhne replied calmly. “I just hope you’re up to it.”

Harper shot him a disturbed look. “Isn't that a little… ya know… drastic?”

Höhne shook his head reverently. “I don’t think so. I’ve checked the _Andromeda_ ’s database: it was standard procedure to erase an AI, if it has been compromised.”

“But why?” Harper frowned, “It seems such a frigging _waste_!”

“The core AI of a High Guard ship always contained countless classified High Guard documents,” Rekeeb pointed out. “Those tactical procedural commands could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Really?” Harper was still not convinced. “I thought the Commonwealth considered AIs as sentient beings. With the same rights as other lifeforms.”

“They did,” Höhne said. “But sometimes they had to make sacrifices. That’s why all ships’ AIs swore a military oath to self-destruct when they were at risk to be captured.”

“How nice,” Harper scowled. “Did the High Guard captains swear to kill themselves, too?”

The question took Höhne unaware. Quite frankly, he found the idea of sacrificing an AI sound and never thought about it. They were just machines, after all.

“Not that I know of it,” he finally said. Harper’s scowl deepened.

“Thought so,” he spat angrily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take a look at these engineering records.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“He’s not ready to choose sides yet,” Freya commented softly, watching the events on the viewscreen of their quarters through Höhne’s live feed. “You were right. He’d have fought you, had you tried to execute your original plan. Fought you – and died. That would have been a waste indeed.”

“He’d die for a _machine_?” Amritray, currently on duty, asked in surprise.

“For him, that life-sized love toy of an avatar is more than just a machine,” Tyr replied. He’d just returned from the command deck, transferring command to the Ruby Than. “He’s developed an unhealthy emotional attachment to the _Andromeda_ – and only partly due to the fact that he’d built the android in the first place.”

“The typical Pygmalion-syndrome,” Amritray said with a shrug. “The maker falling in love with his own creation. How very… human.”

“What he needs is a healthy relationship,” Freya said. “A… distraction to make him stop obsessing about he android - and open his mind for other possible alliances.”

“Maybe he’ll find someone aboard the _Pax_ ,” Amritray said.

“That would be most unfortunate,” Tyr replied. “I don’t want him to be allied with those High Guard fossils. I want him to be allied with _us_. His skills are unique, and he’s resourceful. I want _that_ on my side.”

“There’s a way perhaps,” Freya said. “His libido is very strong for a _kludge_. If we could channel it in a way that he’d find… satisfying, we’d have him hooked.” She looked at Amritray. “I’m sure you cold smell his interest as well. He won’t mind your… condition. Humans don’t restrict themselves to reproductive sex.”

Tyr nodded slowly, speculatively. The suggestion did have its merits. Omegas were the exclusive property of their Alpha, true, but Harper was human. He could never challenge Tyr’s dominance over Amritray – and he _was_ after girls all the time. It might work. Giving him a personal interest in the welfare of Tyr’s family could be… useful.

So, why was he hesitating to seize the opportunity? Who cared if a _kludge_ ’s insignificant feelings got hurt?

“Are you volunteering?” he asked Amritray.

“Me?” Amritray laughed. “I don’t think that bedding _me_ could be considered ‘healthy’ for him, my… Tyr. He’s a _kludge_ from a slave world – it’s unlikely that his interests include Nietzscheans.”

“Unlikely – but not impossible,” Freya said. “If he were to be the dominant one, given the chance to woo and eventually conquer, it might give him a kind of satisfaction he would never reach with other partners.”

“Until he realizes that we have played him,” Tyr said, “in which moment everything will go straight to hell.”

“Why should that happen?” Freya asked. “He’d never expect one of us fall in undying love with him; he’s no fool. Casual sex, however, is something _kludge_ s do all the time.”

“Perhaps,” Tyr looked at Amritray again. “Are you willing to give it a try? I want you and your brother to befriend him. As he’s rather small, he might find you less intimidating than other Nietzscheans. Teach him to fight, if he’s interested. He can defend himself, but not well enough, and he’s too valuable to get killed by accident.”

“Do you want me to bed him?” Amritray asked bluntly.

Tyr hesitated again. He’d become dangerously considerate where the little _kludge_ was considered. That was a weakness. He couldn’t allow weaknesses to get in the way of his destiny.

“It’s up to you,” he finally said. “If you think it would help to win his trust, do it. But more important is to befriend him. It’s in the human nature to care more for a friend than for a casual bedmate.”

Which wasn’t exactly true… well, not always. In _Harper_ ’s case, however… as enthusiastic as the little professor could get while going on about his amorous adventures on various Drifts, he’d die for his _friends_ , without a moment of hesitation. Tyr was certain of that. It might not be the human nature generally, but it certainly was _Harper_ ’s nature.

The way some humans interpreted friendship had striking similarities with the Omega oath. With the significant difference that humans did the same things for a friend voluntarily that an Omega would do for his Pride Alpha by obligation. For his part, Tyr preferred the Omega bond, as it left the Omega no chance to back off or change his mind. But he had to admit, someone doing it merely out of loyalty to a friend was – impressive. As long as this someone wasn’t a Nietzschean, of course.

“Be careful with him,” he instructed Amritray. “He doesn’t trust easily, especially not one of us. I want him to trust you… to trust _us_.”

“How can you expect a _kludge_ with his background to believe that a Nietzschean could be his friend?” Amritray asked doubtfully.

“The only way to achieve that is to _become_ his friend,” Tyr said. “You and your brother will have to prove yourselves. You may go any lengths you see fit, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your primary duty to me and my family. Be creative.”

“But why is this particular _kludge_ so important?” the young Omega asked in confusion. “There are plenty of good engineers among our people…”

“None of whom could have created the weapon that destroyed the major part of our fleet in the Battle of Witchhead,” Tyr pointed out. “I want that sort of creative talent on our side the next time.”

“He would never turn against his own people,” Freya warned.

“I know,” Tyr said. “But the next time, it won’t be the humans or Dylan’s pathetic new Commonwealth that we’ll be facing. And I don’t think that Harper would have any problems with destroying the Magog. _Or_ the Drago-Kazov Neanderthals.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time Harper, completely oblivious to the fact that the campaign to seduce him (theoretically – or literally, if needed) to the side of the _Über_ s had started already, was having a heated discussion with Dylan and Rommie. As expected, both the captain and the android wanted _Rommie_ to enter the _Pax_ ’ VR matrix. Theoretically, they were right. Under normal circumstances, she’d have a better chance to interface with the other ship’s core AI. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and Harper was afraid that a feedback loop might damage Rommie beyond repair.

“But you might need High Guard override codes,” Rommie pointed out.

Harper crossed his arm. “Fine. Give me them”

That earned him _the Look_ from Dylan… which made him positively mad.

“What?” he demanded angrily. “Am I suddenly not trustworthy?”

“You’re not High Guard,” Rommie answered. At which Harper almost literally exploded.

“No, I’m not,” he snarled. “And I don’t salute either, and don’t hand in written reports. So what? Does this make me a lower life form?”

“Of course not,” Dylan said soothingly. “It’s just…”

“It’s just that I’m the one who’s built Rommie from the scratch, using spare parts,” Harper riposted. “I’m the only one who could repair her in case she gets damaged and frankly, I can’t tell what may possibly happen to her if she directly interfaces with the _Pax_. I won’t take that risk. Not before I’ve seen the core AI for myself.”

“But not alone,” Höhne warned. “You need someone who watches you and breaks the connection, if necessary.”

“I agree,” Dylan said. “Rommie will go in with you.”

“No, she won’t,” Harper protested. “It seems to me that you haven’t got the whole point of this argument, boss.”

“I have,” Dylan interrupted, “and I decided to disagree with you.”

“Respectfully, Captain Hunt, this is the worst possible solution,” Höhne shook his head. “The two would be equally vulnerable, when they interface with the _Pax_ directly. We might end up with a dead engineer and an android damaged beyond repair.”

“Then I’ll go with them,” Dylan said with a shrug. But the Perseid shook his head again.

“With all due respect, Captain, you wouldn’t be much help when it comes to technical problems. Neither would I, due to some neural damage I’ve suffered during a Magog attack on Kingfisher. I suggest we send in Rekeeb with them as a watcher. He’s good at cybernetics and will be able to bring them out, should anything go wrong.”

Hunt wasn’t happy with the solution, but didn’t have any good argument against it, either. So he was almost relieved when he was called to the command deck to meet Lieutenant Pierce - at least he could save his face this way… well, sort of. The others returned to the _Maru_ , as the freighter’s virtual net seemed the safest way to enter the _Pax_ ’ memory archives.

Harper rummaged a little under a console and came up with a pair of VR goggles, which he handed to Rekeeb.

“You’ll need these,” he said. “And remember, you’re here to watch – no interfering. Let Rommie and me handle things.”

Rekeeb nodded in complete agreement. He wouldn’t try to manipulate the _Pax_ ’ AI on his own, even though the virus to erase it was already stored in his cranial implant. Not before he saw for himself in what shape the core intelligence was in. And certainly not while Harper _and_ the _Andromeda_ were watching. They’ll find the best opportunity to download the virus into the _Pax’_ system eventually – without frying _his_ neural net.

“Good,” Harper said. “ _Maru_ , establish virtual reality interface with the _Pax_ ' AI core.”

“Interface established,” the monotonous male voice of the _Maru_ computer replied. Harper took a deep breath.

“Ooooookay, here we go…” he jacked in and his entire body went slack for a moment, as always, when interfacing with a highly developed system. The initial data input was overwhelming, until his brain adjusted. Even with the _Andromeda_ , where he always had an icy smooth slide-in. Unlike here. He winced in momentary pain. “All right, Rommie, you can come in,” he said, “but be careful. It’s a bumpy ride.”

He saw Rommie laying her hand on the panel and Rekeeb putting on the VR goggles. In the next moment, their avatars were standing next to him on the virtual reality plane.

If he had expected the clear, elegant – and utterly functional – VR environment of the _Andromeda_ , he was sorely disappointed. The virtual room surrounding them was all gold, but strangely shapeless – to be frank, it was positively nightmare-ish. And so was the _Pax_ avatar itself: a blurred, barely humanoid golden figure, wandering around aimlessly, and lamenting barely understandable, repeating the same mindless sentences over and over again.

“Can machines cry…? Do computers weep…? Can machines cry…? Do computers weep…?”

Harper looked at Rommie across the virtual plane worriedly.

“Rom-doll, I’m afraid we’re having a serious problem here.”


	17. Rumours, Bargains and Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of dialogue are modified versions of what was said in _The Mathematics of Tears_. The title is borrowed from a Babylon 5 episode. I admit that the science discussed here might not always be valid. I’m not particularly good at imaginary tech... and don't really care, either.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 16 - Rumours, Bargains and Lies**

In his quarters aboard the _Andromeda_ , Tyr and his family were watching Rekeeb’s live feed from the _Pax_ ’ VR matrix. When he’d first come aboard, Tyr was a little bewildered, seeing the independent backup computer system in the first officer’s quarters. It seemed an antiquated – and unnecessary – idea. It took him some time to realize how useful it was to have a system that couldn’t be watched automatically by the ship’s AI. In fact, it was so completely independent that all _Andromeda_ could know was that he was using the system for _something_.

Of course, in theory, the _Andromeda_ AI could have hacked even into an independent system. It was powerful enough to do so. But it was not _programmed_ for such behaviour. After all, the independent system had been installed for cases of emergency, when the core AI got infested or compromised – as a safety net for the entire ship. Which was the reason why it had only been installed in the quarters of the captain, the first officer and the chief engineer. The latter ones were currently occupied by the two Perseids, though, as Harper had chosen quarters that were closer to the ones of his former shipmates.

So, theoretically, Tyr could use this system in his quarters undisturbed. But he was careful enough not to use them often, as it would raise suspicions with both the ship and her captain. This time, however, he was making an exception. No need for Hunt to know that Rekeeb was sending him a live feed from the VR matrix. Sitting on the sofa of his living room, with Freya in his arm and the twins at their feet, he felt supremely in control. He knew it was an illusion – and a dangerous one at that – but a highly satisfying one nevertheless.

Freya frowned as she listened to _Andromeda_ calling out to her ‘sister’, trying to establish contact in vain. The shapeless golden avatar was still wandering around randomly, babbling meaningless things.

“What is the binary code for sadness…?” it wailed. “What are the mathematics of tears…? What is the binary code for sadness…? What are the mathematics of tears…?” The lament continued in an endless loop, again and again.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Freya frowned. “Can a warship go mad? Because this one surely seems more than a little… confused.”

“According to Höhne… yes,” Tyr said. “He told me that sentient ships - or, to be more precise, their core intelligence – are known to have gone mad before, due to the lack of a crew… or a purpose.”

“Then they are more like organic beings than one might think,” Arjuna commented softly.

Tyr shrugged indifferently. “They are _machines_ , Arjuna. Nothing less, nothing more. Glorified autopilots, with brains of the size of a small planet – at least that is what _Andromeda_ likes to tell about herself.”

“And yet they need the same things as we do,” Arjuna pointed out. “A family and a purpose.”

“If that is true, why should the _Pax_ have become insane?” Freya asked. “She does have a crew – certainly a bigger one than the _Andromeda_.”

“Something is not right with the crew,” Arjuna said.

“Of course not,” Tyr snorted. “They say that they are three hundred years old. And they expect us to believe that.”

“They might not be lying about their age,” Arjuna said, “but I doubt very much that they truly _are_ the original crew. You’ve heard the Sapphire Than, my… Tyr. They _cannot_ be the original crew.”

“Checking the crew manifest might help to clear that,” Tyr said. “I’m sure they had pictures and a full genetic make-up recorded for each crewmember. Bureaucracy has always been so very High Guard.”

Freya nodded, watching the three hundred year old pre-battle scene unfold on the viewscreen. “I’ll take a look as soon as this is over. And _you_ should pay a visit to the science lab. Wisdom and the Magog will be examining some cell samples provided by the _Pax_ crew. They might find out who – or _what_ – those people really are.”

“We could help,” Amritray offered. “If we – or at least one of us – got the chance to visit the _Pax_ , we might be able to pick up something… stray thoughts, unusual emotional patterns, that sort of thing.”

“We’ll see,” Tyr was quite certain that Dylan would not be happy with Nietzscheans roaming the _Pax_ , but he wasn’t going to ask. He wasn’t going to allow the captain’s starry-eyed sentimentalism to endanger his prize. “We’ll need the _Maru_ to get over, though.”

“Well, Lieutenant Pierce has invited the captain to dinner. He’ll return for his dress uniform, I guess,” Freya grinned. “I doubt that he’d check the _Maru_ for stowaways before getting back for his date.”

“True enough,” Tyr agreed. “I’ll go over, too. I have the uncomfortable feeling that our shipmates aren’t safe there. I’ll take Amritray with me and have the green bugs stand ready with the slipfighters - just in case. Something is very odd with that ship. Maybe Harper’s ghost stories about it do have a grain of truth, after all.”

“Ummm… the ship definitely doesn’t like anyone poking around her memory archives,” Freya remarked. “She’s just thrown Harper and _Andromeda_ out of her matrix.”

“You have a record?” Tyr asked. Freya glared at him with the expression of a woman who’d been insulted without a proper reason.

“Of course. _Including_ the emergency override code.”

Tyr grinned at her with proprietary pride. “Nice work, my First.”

“I do what I can, husband,” Freya declared with dignity, and then they all laughed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Half an hour later, the landing team was back aboard the _Andromeda_ with the medical records and the cell sample provided by the _Pax_ ’ crew, When Tyr reached the science lab on the medical deck, he already found the Sapphire Than and the Magog immersed in their work and Beka and Harper in the middle of an argument.

“Dylan apparently hopes that after dinner he'll have another ship in his fleet,” Beka was saying sarcastically, just as Tyr entered. “That Lieutenant Pierce certainly bends backward to please him - you should have heard how she kept kissing up to our fearless leader. And Dylan sliming back. ‘You run a fine starship, Lieutenant.’ ‘All it needs is a captain.’” She rolled her eyes. “It’s nauseating.”

But Harper didn’t laugh with her, which wasn’t a good sign. Nor was the way he was rubbing the reddened skin around his dataport.

“The hot babe isn’t the problem, Boss,” he said. “The ship... she isn't lucid. She didn’t even recognize Rommie. Rommie had to override her system to enter the memory archives, and even then, she threw us out. Hell, she sent a jolt through my dataport that had me howling in pain – and I’m used to such things, ya know. Something is very wrong over there.”

“I guess Rommie wasn’t happy about it, huh?” Beka asked with the strange compassion of someone with a troublesome sibling.

“Yeah,” Harper agreed, “she was devastated about her ‘sister’ not remembering her. Whoever had programmed her three hundred or so years ago, did a good job. Almost too good, if you ask me.”

“What did Dylan say?” Beka asked. Harper pulled a face.

“Held one of his speeches, what else?” He made quotation marks in the air with his hands.” ‘Keep trying, Rommie. Somewhere deep inside, your sister knows you're trying to help. You'll get through. I know you will.’ And so on. Then he went to suck face with the hot babe.”

“So much about not having affairs with subordinates and grieving forever after his lost love,” Beka commented cynically.

Harper, of course, felt obligated to defend Lt. Pierce.

“Hey, she might not be called ‘captain’, but she’s run that ship for the last three hundred years. I’d say that qualifies her as Dylan’s equal.”

“There’s no such thing as equality,” Tyr said. “There will always be inferiors, just as there will be superiors, always. Both in their right place will evolve together through time – and an infinitely disinterested Universe(1).”

Harper rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Geez, Tyr, give me a break! That crazed ship nearly fried my brain half an hour ago, I’m really not in any shape for _Über_ philosophy. In your great scheme of things I’d be the ultimate inferior anyway.”

“Not necessarily,” Tyr shrugged. “In some time and space, we might stumble upon the roles reversed. Nothing in the universe is static forever. There are always changes in the great matrix. What the old Commonwealth failed to understand is that power is never passed from the hands of the powerful into those of the powerless freely(2). We all have to struggle to keep or reinstate our place in that matrix - just as you have, against all odds, when you made it out of Earth. You might have your shortcomings, especially compared with a Nietzschean, but so far you’ve always managed to make up for them and wriggle out of death’s grip. What else can anyone – Nietzschean or human alike – hope for?”

With that, he walked over to the lab table, to take a look at the readings over the Sapphire Than’s shoulder. The others stared after him open-mouthed – they’d never heard him discussing philosophy… or talking so much, for that matter… before.

“Boss,” Harper said in a strangely faint voice, “have I been just insulted or complimented?”

“With Tyr, it’s probably the same,” Beka replied with a shrug and followed the Nietzschean to the table holding the lab equipment. “So, Rev. What is the deal with their cells? Have they discovered the fountain of youth?”

The Magog’s ears twitched in amusement.

“Hmmph. I'm afraid eternal life remains a secret of the Divine,” he announced, ignoring Tyr’s snort.

Beka raised an eyebrow. She was used to Rev Bem’s way of speaking but sometimes it was a real pain to extract any information from him. “So, are they frauds?”

“No,” the Magog said, overriding the Sapphire Than’s simultaneous ‘yes’. “The cell sample they gave me confirms their claims. They really _are_ over three hundred years old.”

“Not exactly,” Radiance of Wisdom said. “The _cell sample_ is over three hundred years old. We still don’t know anything about the _crew_.”

“You believe they’ve delivered some conserved cell samples from the original crew and are actually impostors?” Tyr asked with interest. That, at least, would have made _sense_.

“What I know is that the human tissue cannot remain unchanged over such a long stretch of time,” Radiance of Wisdom answered. “Besides, all crewmembers of the _Andromeda_ have continued to age normally since we have arrived. So, whatever's keeping them so perfectly preserved…”

“… it is _not_ the debris or any pervasive local condition,” Rev Bem finished for her.

“What about regenerative abilities gained through radiation when the planet exploded?” Tyr asked. “Radiation is known to cause strange mutations.”

“In that case the sample wouldn’t read three hundred years old,” Rev Bem pointed out.

Beka shook her head in frustration. “Well, keep looking, guys. Maybe it's my pilot's gut, but something tells me this crew is not flying straight and level.”

“Have you tried to warn our esteemed captain?” Tyr asked. Beka shot him a baleful look.

“You really think he’d have listened to me? When he could listen to spit-polished, good little High Guard officers and eager little ensigns who prepare him briefing reports about their ship’s status and put fresh coffee on his desk? Oh, and they salute, too,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What chance would I have against all that military spit and polish? I’m just the freighter captain who rescued him from a black hole, after all. Why should he listen to _me_?”

The bitterness in her voice surprised Tyr. Could Beka possibly have a personal interest in Hunt, or was she simply insulted? Was it jealousy colouring her voice? And if so, that of the professional or of the personal sort? In any case, this was an interesting factor in the constant – albeit very subtle – power struggle aboard the _Andromeda_.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Tyr offered, grinning. “Maybe I can irritate him into listening.”

Beka gave him a sardonic eyebrow. “Good luck,” she said dryly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr caught up with Dylan in the corridor leading to the hangar bay. Hunt was already wearing his dress uniform and looked way too eager to return to the heaven that was proper High Guard protocol.

“Am I to understand you're asking the commander of the _Pax Magellanic_ to join us?” he asked in a casual manner, falling in step on the human’s side.

Dylan glanced at him warily. “That's the plan, yes.”

“Hmmm…” Tyr strolled on his side quietly for a while, then, when Dylan was close to exploding, he added, still in the casual manner. “You might want to ask her another question first.”

“Which is?” Dylan was clearly annoyed now.

“Ask her who destroyed that planet,” Tyr suggested.

“We _know_ who destroyed the planet!” Dylan riposted in clear frustration. “Your fellow _Übers_ did, as Harper would put it.”

“Did they?” Tyr asked. “You and I both know that my people don't destroy habitable worlds – particularly not when we're standing on them.”

“Well, maybe it was an accident,” Dylan shrugged. Tyr glared daggers at him.

“We don’t blow up planets by accident any more than we’d blow up our own orbital habitats. Weapons are something we’re very good with. Besides, we couldn’t find in the planetary debris any indication of a Maximum Charge having been used there – and no other Nietzschean weapon is capable of destroying a _planet_.”

Dylan frowned, still defensive about his fellow High Guard officers. “What about natural causes?”

“We’ve ruled out those, too,” Tyr replied. “The blue bug found no indication of either a geologic instability, or an asteroid collision.”

Dylan glared at him in disbelief. “Are you saying the _Commonwealth_ destroyed the planet?”

Tyr held his glare, unwavering. “I'm saying draw your own conclusions.”

Hunt hurried down the corridor, without giving an answer. Tyr withstood the undignified urge to roll his eyes and jogged after him. Humans! They were so gullible when it came to their own kind it was ridiculous. A Nietzschean would never doubt the treachery of another Nietzschean – in fact, he’d count on it from the very beginning. Survival on a ship under Hunt’s command sometimes proved a true challenge.

It was annoying, to say the least, but it couldn’t be helped at the moment. He had to move the pieces on his game board carefully. While Harper worked with the _Pax_ ’ chief engineer, providing a handy distraction, Rekeeb would find the chance to download the virus, which then could be activated by a simple order. Once they’ve neutralized the crew, whoever – or _whatever_ – they might really be, he would be able to make his next move.

There only remained one problem - and a rather big one. How will he be able to make Dylan believe that the _Pax_ was destroyed? Höhne told him that he was working on that particular problem. Tyr just didn’t know if he could trust the Perseid… well, at least as far as he was capable of trusting at all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Freya walked into the science lab nonchalantly, finding Rev Bem and Radiance of Wisdom still immersed in their analysis.

“I still cannot find anything in the environmental conditions that would explain the _Pax_ ’ crew’s longevity,” the Sapphire Than wiggled her antennae in confusion.

“Do you have the crew manifest in the _Andromeda_ ’s database?” Freya asked. “Have you tried to compare the recorded data with the readings we got from the _Pax_?”

Rev Bem looked at her with renewed interest. “Do you have any specific suspicions?”

“Not really,” Freya replied, “at least nothing I could put my finger on right now. But this Lieutenant Pierce… something is very strange about her. Her body language is almost Nietzschean… restricted, aloof, authoritative. I’d like to take a look at her genetic makeup. The High Guard did keep records about the bloodlines of their officers, didn’t they?”

“To a certain extent, yes,” the Magog nodded. “They needed to know whom they could send down to which planet.”

“Excellent,” Freya nodded. “You, as the science officer of this vessel, do have access to those records, don’t you?”

“Of course,” with a curved claw, Rev Bem tapped the required controls. “Let us take a look at Lieutenant Jill Pierce then.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Rekeeb was incredibly nervous. Sabotaging a High Guard heavy cruiser, even one with a seriously confused core AI, was not a small task. Especially not with said ship’s chief engineer breathing down his neck. Granted, the dark-skinned human was in the neighbouring conduit, showing off his ‘gunslinger technique’, as he called it, to a bored and impatient Harper, but that didn’t mean that Rekeeb was safe to do as he pleased. And since Harper wasn’t involved in this little conspiracy yet, he couldn’t be any help.

The young Perseid shot the two humans a nervous glance. They were supposed to fix the slipstream drive, but were wasting their time with pointless bantering. Would Harper be able to do what the _Pax_ ’ remaining engineering crew couldn’t manage in three hundred years, so that at the end they got frustrated enough to weld the door to the slipstream drive shut? Rekeeb knew that Harper was good, but was he really _that_ good? Did all the little human’s boasting about being a super genius really have some truth in it?

Rekeeb hoped that the answer would be ‘yes’. If the _Pax_ ’ slipstream drive was gone for good, Höhne would have no chance to ‘liberate’ the ship from Anasazi’s grasp and secure it for Sinti IV. If they had to wait for the Nietzschean’s allies to repair the ship, they would come to stay. And the ship would be Anasazi’s.

In any case, the virus needed to be downloaded. And since Anasazi was the only one who knew the activating code, for the time being the Perseids had to wait for his next move. Rekeeb sighed and chose a suitable-looking control panel, far enough from Harper and the _Pax_ ’ engineer, so that they couldn’t see what he was doing. He slid his right hand into the manual exoskeleton with practiced ease and hacked into the _Pax_ ’ system.

The first jolt ran through his entire body like liquid fire – organic technology had its quirks. But after a moment the connection stabilized itself and the data stream began to flow from his cranial implant through his access glove directly into the _Pax_. He congratulated himself for having studied the modifications Harper had applied to the _Andromeda_ the first time the _Maru_ crew had boarded the ship. Without copying those, Rekeeb wouldn’t have been able to invade the _Pax_ and live to tell the tale. Maybe the human engineer really was as good as he liked to state about himself.

Hanging upside down from a duct pipe, Amritray allowed herself a faint smile. The younger chinhead kept up the Perseids’ side of the bargain. Tyr would be pleased. Then she swung back to horizontal again and crept forward to keep an eye on Harper. Unlike her Alpha, she had the advantage of a slim body and could crawl through vents and duct pipes just as easily as Harper himself. Keeping her other eye on Rekeeb still, she lowered her shields for a fraction, seeking for the others.

She could feel Tyr the strongest, of course, as she was attuned to him - even though, physically, Tyr was still quite a few decks away, aboard the _Maru_. Consulting her wrist-guard, where the scanner with the _Pax_ ’ layout was fastened, she checked out Dylan’s whereabouts. The captain was in the _Pax_ ’ equivalent of Hydroponics. She could sense Beka nearby – what was the _Maru_ ’s captain doing? Oh, yes, she was accompanying the _Andromeda_ avatar, who wanted to re-enter the _Pax_ ’ memory archives. All _Andromeda_ crewmembers were accounted for, it seemed. So far, so good.

From her vantage point, she had a sufficient view on both Harper and Rekeeb, so that she could jump to their defence as Tyr wanted, if necessary. She could also risk lowering her shields some more and mentally ‘listen’ to the _Pax_ crew.

She heard nothing.

Bewildered, she lowered her shields some more, although she was well aware of the fact how dangerous that could be. She only hoped that Tyr wouldn’t get agitated about something or other and shut her brain off through their connection due to his anger right now.

Still nothing.

Opening herself even more would have been a risk so extreme that it would contradict her Nietzschean nature profoundly. Such risks were diagonally opposite to her sense of self-preservation. On the other hand, her Alpha wanted answers, and she _belonged_ to her Alpha…

With just a moment of hesitation, she dropped her shields completely.

She could feel the excitement and barely controlled fear of the Perseid - Rekeeb’s emotions were painfully strong, but not directed at her, so with some effort, she could ignore them. Harper was curious and vaguely suspicious about the entire situation, but so focused on his work that he barely broadcast his emotions at all. Beka was angry and suspicious, but still further away… although rapidly approaching. Beyond them all, she could feel Tyr – the well-controlled strength and fire of his emotions, the well-ordered structure of his mind… something that she found utterly familiar and comforting.

And beyond that – nothing. She couldn’t feel the _Andromeda_ avatar, but she was used to _that_ already. That was normal. However, she could not feel the _Pax_ crew, either. Not a single one of them. And _that_ was most certainly _not_ normal.

Hastily re-establishing her shields, Amritray sent her Alpha a clear mental warning. She wished they had had more time to work on their connection, so that she could send information to him as well, but that was still a long way to go with someone without the Gift. Then she crawled forward, so that she was laying on her belly above the door that once had led to the slipstream room. Rekeeb was safe – alone – at the moment, but Harper might be in grave danger with that fake _Pax_ engineer. And since Tyr didn’t want Harper harmed in any way, she would see that the little _kludge_ remained safe, too.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Finally left unbothered by Harper and the _Pax_ ’ engineer, Rekeeb put on the VR goggles he had brought from the _Maru_. He knew that the _Andromeda_ avatar was trying to get into the memory archives of the _Pax_ again, while Harper was distracted – the little human could be fiercely protective and rather obnoxious when it came to his favourite android – and Rekeeb wanted a record of those events, just in case. His cranial implant, unfortunately, didn’t have a recording capacity, but it enabled him to send a live feed from the VR-matrix directly to Anasazi’s quarters, where Freya or one of the Nietzschean twins could do the actual recording.

Höhne hadn’t been particularly happy with this solution. He’d have preferred to keep any inside information from the Nietzscheans that could have helped Anasazi seize the ship. But there was no other way. If _he_ wanted a record, he had to allow the Nietzschean to keep one as well. It was inconvenient, but he couldn’t count on anyone else on board, and the independent systems in _their_ quarters had still not been fixed. At least for the moment Anasazi’s interests matched Höhne’s. As for the future – well, they’ll see.

He established the connection and found himself in a virtual corridor of the _Pax_ – an empty one. Only _Andromeda_ and the blurred, golden _Pax_ avatar were there. From the crew no sign. The _Pax_ avatar was still wandering around, wailing.

“I can rest but I cannot cry... I can rest but I cannot cry... “ it repeated again and again.

“Maggie, listen to me,” the _Andromeda_ avatar urged. “This is the day the planet exploded, isn’t it? Where’s your crew? Show me!”

She began to walk towards a doorway. Surprisingly enough, the _Pax_ let her, but it cried after her with bone-deep sorrow in its artificial voice, “There's no future in there... There's only the past... There's no future in there... There's only the past...”

Ignoring her, the _Andromeda_ continued her walk. The doorway opened for her, and Rekeeb could see her enter the command deck. Strangely enough, it was empty. Only Lieutenant Pierce was present, but a voice that Rekeeb recognized as Captain Warrick’s, could be heard talking to Lieutenant Pierce from the planet.

“That's an order, lieutenant… That's an order, lieutenant… That's an order, lieutenant…”

The image jerked in a peculiar way that Rekeeb couldn’t describe, and the short order got repeated over and over again, like a broken record.

On the main viewscreen, the apocalyptic view of the exploding planet could be seen, the moment of the explosion repeating in an endless-loop, just like the captain’s words.

“By the turquoise seas of Ugroth!” Rekeeb muttered in shock. “It was her. Lieutenant Pierce. She was the one who blew up the planet, killing her captain and all the High Guard troops down there. But why?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Dylan Hunt asked the same question when Rommie stumbled onto the Hydroponics deck where he was having dinner with Lt. Pierce. The cold blonde beauty shrugged in defeat.

“Our troops down on the planet were overrun. Sky Falls was dead. The situation was desperate, and the captain – he called down friendly fire.”

Dylan nodded in understanding. “To prevent being captured. It makes sense.”

“He ordered it,” Lt. Pierce said defensively. “I didn't want to.”

“Jill, it was his call,” Dylan comforted her. “Under torture he could have revealed sector troop positions, fleet movements, orders of battle. He _had_ to prevent that. He couldn’t hope to withstand the Nietzschean methods of interrogation. No mere human could.”

“I know,” Lt. Pierce sighed, “but in the end it didn’t matter, did it? We still lost the war, lost the entire Commonwealth – and I killed him. I killed them all.”

“How did you manage to blow up the planet anyway?” Dylan asked. “I always thought nothing one of our ships had could do that, short of using Nova bombs, of course. You _didn_ ’t use Nova bombs, did you?”

“Of course not,” Pierce replied, a little indignantly. “I used kinetic missiles. There must have been some sort of chain reaction. The entire planet just… shattered.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“No way could kinetic missiles have caused _that_ sort of destruction,” Tyr, watching the entire scene Rommie was feeding live to the _Maru_ , told Beka. “Not even by accident. Trust me in this - I’ve got vast experience with blowing up things. She’s lying, and so is her entire crew.”

“Of course she is,” Beka agreed. “Having ‘convinced herself that it never happened’, my ass! Only Dylan could buy such a transparent lie.”

“The suicidal idealism of our esteemed captain makes him blind towards everything he doesn’t _want_ to see,” Tyr agreed. “And he sure as hell doesn’t want to find any fault in his fellow High Guard officers, no matter whether they are the true item… or something entirely different.”

“You still think they’re frauds?” Beka asked.

“You’ve heard the blue bug,” Tyr answered with a shrug. “They _cannot_ be whom they pretend to be. Maybe if the android interfaces with the core AI again she’ll finally find out what it’s hiding... now that she knows what to look for. Or perhaps Harper will find the true reason the slipstream drive isn’t working.”

“I’m not happy with Harper hanging around that Dutch character alone,” Beka admitted. “Guy gives me the creeps – and Harper, though resilient for a little mudfoot, could get in trouble. Hell, he’s a virtual trouble magnet – I don’t want him hurt!”

“He’s not alone,” Tyr said simply, not admitting that he didn’t want Harper hurt, either. “You don’t really think I’d leave our only engineer alone and unprotected with a stranger of questionable origins and even more questionable intentions? Amritray is keeping an eye on them - and trust me, she’s more than capable of protecting Harper.”

Beka gave him a calculating look. “Those pretty twins of yours… they’re more than just a couple of orphans you took pity on, aren’t they?”

“ _Pity_ is not a Nietzschean trait,” Tyr said. Beka nodded.

“What a surprise. Never would have thought, myself. So tell me, who – or _what_ – are they?”

Tyr smiled enigmatically. “Don’t ask me, Captain Valentine, and I won’t lie to you.”

Beka sighed. “Fair enough. At least you aren’t asking me to _trust_ you. But are you sure she’ll be able to keep Harper out of harm’s way?”

“There’s no absolute certainty in anything,” Tyr replied, “but I’m as sure as ‘humanly’ possible that he’s safe with her.”

“As safe as he’d be with you?” Beka asked. Tyr shook his head.

“Safer, actually. I could never squeeze myself through some of the conduits Arjuna or Amritray would cross easily.”

“All right,” Beka said. “Why don’t we two pretties go then and take a look at that mysterious slipstream drive? Something tells me that there’s the core of everything the _Pax_ is hiding. I can secure the _Maru_ , while…”

“No need for that,” Tyr interrupted her. “I’ve taken… precautions.”

He gave a low whistle and, to Beka’s mild shock, something that looked like a large green carry-all dropped unceremoniously in a corner unfolded itself. It grew arms and legs all of a sudden, two bulbous compound eyes and two amusedly wriggling antennae.

“Insectoid physiology,” the Emerald Than, whom Beka now recognized as Celestial Fire, knacked her limbs into their usual positions. “No cramps, no circulatory problems caused by long periods of immobility. Good camouflage when on security duty.”

She seemed extremely pleased with herself. And Beka had to admit that she had every right to do so. Than physiology could come handy when one had to spend long hours cramped into the pilot’s seat.

“Very well,” she said grinning. “I see you have everything under control here, Fire. Take care of Rommie when she returns, will you?”

The Emerald Than gave her a down-to-the-book High Guard salute.

“Aye, aye, Captain Valentine, ma’am!” she replied crisply.

Beka rolled her eyes. “Bugs. You guys get too easily impressed by the military.”

“Are you two done playing yet?” Tyr asked in a bored manner. “Let’s go, then.”

“Harper is right,” Beka declared. “You Niets really need to learn the meaning of fun.” But she followed him nevertheless.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When they reached the engineering deck, Harper had already finished burning through the door that had been welded shut. Neither he, nor the _Pax_ engineer with the strange nickname were anywhere to see.

“They’ve gone to the slipstream room,” Tyr said. “Go after them; I’ll try to find the Perseid and bring him back to the _Maru_ before he starts asking the wrong questions and gets killed for it.”

“What a shame,” Beka commented sardonically, after Tyr had left. “It would be such a convenient way to get rid of the annoying little chinhead. Ah, well…”

She stepped out onto the catwalk, which – similar to the one that aboard the _Andromeda_ \- would have overlooked the huge, glowing slipstream engine. Only that in _this_ room, there was no engine at all. A little while ahead of her she could see Harper and the _Pax_ ’ engineer staring down as well.

“Hmmm… that explains it,” she heard Harper saying. “I think I know what's wrong with your, uh, slipstream drive there, Dutch. It's _missing_!”

Beka sneaked up behind them, inch-by-inch, very much interested in the engineer’s answer.

“Well, that's the wildest damn thing,” the dark-skinned man replied with _almost_ genuine surprise. “It was there the last time I checked.”

The excuse was so lame it actually surprised Beka. How could the _Pax_ crew, after having built up such a perfect disguise, have forgotten to come up with something at least halfway convincing to explain the missing drive? Had they really counted on anyone ever discovering them? Most likely not.

Harper, being the smart boy he was, didn’t buy the excuse, of course.

“Dutch,” he said, rolling his eyes, “something as big and inanimate as a slipstream drive's exotic matter pulser doesn't just run away on its own. It has to be forcibly ejected.”

“You think so?” Dutch pretended to think about that. “Like this perhaps?”

And, to Beka’s absolute horror, he suddenly grabbed Harper and threw him off the catwalk. 

Suppressing her horrified cry, Beka grabbed her force lance and jumped forth to save her engineer, not noticing the slim, dark figure of Amritray dropping from some conduit, aiming the same goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Quoted from “The Relativity of Ethics”, in: “The Ancestor’s Breath” by Keith Hamilton Cobb - with slight modifications.  
> (2) See above.


	18. More Than Bargained For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of dialogue are modified versions of what was said in _The Mathematics of Tears_.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**Chapter 17 - More Than Bargained For**

Landing on the catwalk with a somersaults in mid-air to slow her own fall down and feather out the impact, Amritray saw that Harper had managed to catch himself on the railing and was trying to climb back up. The little _kludge_ was amazingly hard to kill. But the situation was critical, as the dark-skinned engineer kept zapping his hands with the nanowelder.

“You're so damn stubborn,” he growled. “I hate stubborn lads.”

Harper had one leg hooked on the catwalk, but the other human… well, _creature_ … was still firing at him with the nanowelder, trying to make him fall. Amritray looked around in despair. She was still too far to use one of her throwing knives - the engineer kept moving, and she could have caused him to fall onto Harper, dragging the little human down with himself.

To her relief, she saw Captain Valentine running up from the other side. The human woman had a force lance, thank the Progenitor!

“Shoot him!” Amritray shouted, and Beka fired at Dutch without hesitation.

“Shocked to see me?” she asked mockingly, and Dutch lunged at her, forgetting Harper momentarily, eager to get his hands on the force lance.

“Give it to me!” he demanded, and Beka backed away, luring him after herself to give Harper some breathing space.

While they were struggling, Amritray ran to Harper, pulling him up with a strength that belied her slender frame. Barely on his feet, Harper launched himself at Dutch’s back, but Amritray stopped him in mid-leap.

“Leave him to me,” she said. Her hand was like a steel clamp, so Harper wisely obeyed. 

Beka pushed Dutch towards Amritray, who grabbed the engineer’s jaw and broke his neck with a well-executed jerk. Strangely enough, it didn’t immobilize him. Head standing in an unnatural angle, he kept going. Collecting her strength, Amritray tore his head off completely – and stared at the broken, blinking circuits and diodes with satisfaction.

“An android,” she concluded. “I was expecting something like that.”

“Uh, Miss _Über_ lady, I don’t want to ruin the moment, but…” Harper pointed at more _Pax_ crewmen entering the engine area.

“Oh! More fun!” Beta said, shooting one of them point-blank in the chest.

The crewman in question got up after a moment and kept coming.

“Am I the only one who starts seeing a pattern here?” Harper asked, slightly panicking.

“I suggest a retreat,” Amritray said.

They ran.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Tyr stopped mid-step as Amritray’s mental call for help reached him. Rekeeb didn’t realize this and marched several steps ahead before turning back and looking at the Nietzschean askance.

Tyr bowed his head forward, listening. With his advanced hearing, he could recognize weapons fire, just a few corridors away.

“It seems things have turned ugly,” he said to Rekeeb. “Return to the _Maru_ as quickly as you can. The way before you is still free.”

“What about you?”

“I'll look after the others. But I can’t do so with you underfoot. Go now, while you still can!”

Rekeeb didn’t need more persuasion. He ran as only a very frightened Perseid could. And Perseids were known to be _really_ fast when scared.

He reached the _Maru_ without incidents and stumbled into the cockpit just as Rommie was preparing the console to re-enter the VR-matrix. The Emerald Than wiggled her antennae in welcome.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“Anasazi seems to think so,” Rekeeb replied absently, putting on the VR-goggles. “Keep an eye on the entrance, will you? I need to watch the avatar, just in case.”

Celestial Fire nodded in agreement. She had been instructed by Born to Starfire to cooperate with the Nietzschean during this particular mission. And since Anasazi and the Perseid worked together, she would support Rekeeb, too.

Rekeeb found himself on the virtual command deck of the _Pax_ again. Lieutenant Pierce was still alone there, in command of the whole ship. Well - alone, aside from the two ship’s avatars.

“Maggie,” the _Andromeda_ avatar urged, “I believe I can help you. But you have to show me what happened the day your captain was killed.” She waited, but the blurred golden avatar still hesitated. “Come on,” she argued, “you can do it. You know there’s no other way.”

For a moment, it seemed as if the _Pax_ avatar would cooperate. It opened its mouth - and then it gave a long, electronic keening sound, sending feedback to Rommie's body on the _Maru_ , disabling her.

“Oh, no!” Rekeeb tore the goggles from his eyes and tried to yank the android off the panel she was using to interface. Unfortunately, the only result was an electronic jolt through his cranial implant, making him scream in pain.

The Emerald Than reacted without hesitation. First, she tore the Perseid away from the panel. Then she yanked the android off the interface and laid the unresponsive body on the floor. After that, she hacked into the comm system of the _Pax_ and sent a general message through the entire ship.

“This is an emergency. Mr. Harper, return to the _Eureka Maru_ immediately.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“I’d love to,” Harper panted, running down the corridor with Beka in trail and Amritray leading them,” but these High Guard engineers are so damn touchy! You… burn through one… welded-shut door, and they… wanna kill ya… for it…”

Amritray checked her wrist map while shooting at the _Pax_ crewmembers with a gauss rifle she’d picked up on her way.

“We’re heading to Obs deck,” she reported. “Captain Hunt is still there. That might buy us some time.”

“Time… for what?” Beka panted.

“For Harper,” Amritray replied. She was the only one _not_ out of breath. “They are androids. He’s an engineer – a good one they say. He’ll think of something.”

“I’m glad… to be… appreciated,” Harper’s breathing was seriously laboured already.

“Do you really… have an idea?” Beka shot another android, but with little results.

“Yeah… if we reach… Obs deck in… one piece…”

“Don’t worry,” using her gauss rifle, Amritray shot an android to glowing pieces of metal and synthoskin, “ _you_ will.”

Before Harper could have asked what the hell _that_ was supposed to mean, Amritray pushed him onto Obs deck, closing the door behind them.

Dylan and Lieutenant Pierce were still having dinner amiably, and they looked up in surprise when they saw them stumble in.

“Dylan, get away from her!” Harper shouted.

Hunt glared at them, annoyed about having his date disturbed. “What the hell…?”

“They're trying to kill us,” Beka explained succinctly.

“Who?” Dylan demanded, not quite believing her. “Jill, what the hell is going on?”

Beka gestured to the door, which was being pushed open manually by the pursuing androids. “See for yourself. Harper, you were having an idea?”

Harper grinned at her like a shark. “Watch _this_!”

He keyed a code into one of the consoles, and every single android slumped in their tracks – including Jill Pierce. Beka looked at them – then at Harper, in awe.

“Nice work, Harper! How did you do it?”

“I tricked the A.I. into initiating an android diagnostic program,” Harper explained with obvious pride. “That would shut them down for a while: Dutch, the whole crew – the babe.”

“They're _all_ androids?” Dylan asked, completely dumbfolded. Beka pulled a face.

“Give the man a kewpie doll,” she said snidely. “He got it down right to the point.”

“But she… she was so _human_ ,” Dylan murmured, visibly shaken.

“You can grieve later,” Beka said impatiently. “Right now, we gotta get out of here before the ship manages to reboot the androids.”

As if answering her words, Celestial Fire’s message was repeated through the _Pax_ ’ comm system.

“This is an emergency. Mr. Harper, return to the _Eureka Maru_ immediately.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard ya the first time,” Harper growled impatiently. “We’re coming all right. What’s so urgent anyway? Had the _Maru_ blown up, we’d have noticed it, right?”

Dylan, already on his way out, stopped in his tracks abruptly. “My god. Rommie. Perhaps she got damaged somehow while entering the _Pax_ ' memory archives. We have to get her out of there. She might need help.”

“If that’s the case, I’m sure Rekeeb would have broken the connection,” Harper replied, “but I better take a look. Let's go! Especially,” he added, seeing that the androids all started to come back to life, “as it looks like nap-time's almost over.”

Amritray consulted her wrist guard scanner. “Seems that the way through corridor 217 Gamma is free at the moment. We should hurry up.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Amritray navigated them through the currently unused corridors of the _Pax_ , with the help of her scanner. Despite the dire danger, Harper couldn’t help but glance longingly at the clever little instrument.

“I’ve never seen a scanner like that,” he said, jogging on her side. “Where did ya get it from?”

“One of our people, Hector, likes tinkering with small tools,” Amritray replied. “He’s constructed all sorts of such little gizmos. You can take a look when we’re back on the _Andromeda_ , if you want.”

“Really?” Harper’s eyes lit up like two miniature supernovas at the perspective of playing with new toys. “That’d be so cool! I bet I can make a few more of them. Or improve them. Or…”

“Harper,” Dylan warned, “we’re not back on the _Andromeda_ yet!”

“Not yet… but soon,” Beka panted, as they tumbled onto the hangar bay. “Just let me get into my pilot chair and we’ll be outta here in no time.”

Amritray locked the hangar bay doors behind them, fusing the controls with a well-aimed blast. They’ll replace them, once the _Pax_ is secured. Right now, survival was the primary goal. Beka jumped into her pilot chair, cat-like, and started her checklist. Harper crunched down next to Rommie’s body and, fishing a small tool out of his boot, worked frantically to reanimate her. A few minutes later the android finally opened her eyes, looking at Dylan with a very convincing expression of shock on her face.

“Dylan, the _Pax_ … She tried to send a power surge through me!”

“Yeah, and she tried to kill us all,” Harper rumbled, before Dylan would have come up with one of his comforting platitudes. “Boss, let’s get out while we still can!”

“I’m working on it,” Beka replied, starting the engines. “Blowing out as soon as Tyr’s aboard.”

“We can’t wait for him,” Dylan said. “Let’s go home, fast!”

Beka turned to him in shock. “You gotta be kidding!”

“Dylan, we can’t leave him behind, with a ship full of killer androids!” Harper protested, too. He wasn’t a fan of Nietzscheans by any measure, but Tyr was one of them now. Plus he had a wife and an unborn kid back on the _Andromeda_.

“Why not?” Dylan asked. “He’d do the same, if our roles were reversed. He’s a Nietzschean. He’ll understand that we must save ourselves, first and foremost. Besides, he’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Beka, let’s get out here!”

“If you try, I’ll shoot your pilot console to pieces,” Amritray said calmly, aiming her gun directly at Beka’s controls.

Dylan’s pale eyes narrowed. “You’re bluffing. No Nietzschean would ever sacrifice his or her life for another one. Suicidal tendencies aren’t in your genetic make-up. Beka, let’s launch.”

“Do it, and you won’t be able to fly this rustbin for a _very_ long time,” Amritray warned, completely unfazed. “Tyr is my Pride Alpha. I’m just an outcast, an infertile female. My life is insignificant for the furtherance of the Pride. _His_ is crucial. I won’t allow you to abandon him.”

“Uhhh, people,” Harper looked up from his engineering console. “This whole muscle-flexing is pointless. We can’t launch. Hangar doors won't respond.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Have you checked the crew manifest?” Rev Bem asked in genuine surprise.

Freya nodded. “Checked and re-checked and even made a thorough search through the entire _Pax_ database, thank to Mr. Harper’s hacker skills. There cannot be any doubt. She’s _not_ on the crew manifest.”

“Strange,” the Magog’s ears twitched in excitement. “We might be on something here… Perhaps we should tell this Dylan?”

“That’d probably be a good idea,” Freya agreed, “since he’s having dinner with that woman right now. I wonder who she really is. A Dragan agent, maybe, who’s had her bone blades removed to pass as a human?”

“That’s known to have happened frequently,” the Sapphire Than said thoughtfully. “Let’s hope you can reach Captain Hunt _before_ he gets disembowelled by his dinner date, shall we, Reverend Behemial?”

Freya and Höhne, who’d just joined them out of curiosity (after having prepared everything for the big showdown he and Tyr had been planning ever since finding the _Pax_ ) gave her blank looks. Arjuna, lurking in the background to protect Freya, looked around suspiciously. Was there someone else hiding in the science lab? But all he saw was one of the droids, doing some maintenance work.

“That would be me,” Rev Bem explained placidly. “I’ve been given the name ‘Reverend Behemial Far-Traveller’ in my order. But when Harper came aboard the _Maru_ , he found it too bothersome and shortened it ‘for daily use’, as he put it.”

“He’s a practical one,” the Sapphire Than nodded. “I’ve got the _Maru_ for you.”

“Thank you, Wisdom,” Rev Bem leaned over the comm unit. “Dylan, can you hear me?”

Dylan’s stressed-out face appeared on-screen. “Rev, this isn’t a good time…”

“Is there trouble?” Rev Bem inquired.

“Trouble?” Harper’s face popped up at about the height of Dylan’s shoulder. “You certainly might say _that_.”

“We can’t launch,” Beka explained tartly. “The _Pax_ won’t open the hangar doors for us, and the crew’s just tried to kill us. Plus, Tyr’s missing.”

“Hmmm…” Rev Bem said. “I don't know if it's pertinent to your current situation, but I've discovered something disturbing about Lieutenant Pierce.”

“What?” Harper snapped. “That she's a psychotic android with a grudge? We’ve already discovered that, thank you very much.”

“An android,” the Magog said thoughtfully. “Well, that explains a lot, doesn’t it? But I was actually going to say she's not on the crew manifest.”

“Of course not,” Dylan said, his eyes widening in sudden understanding. “’Pax’ is Latin for ‘peace’. Peace – Pierce. Jill – Ma ‘jill’ anic. Jill Pierce is the _Pax Magellanic_ , the ship made flesh.”

“Does that mean she's the one ordering these androids to kill us?” Harper asked. “But _why_? And how come the sensors registered her as a human being?”

“The life signs must've been faked,” Radiance of Wisdom answered. “That’s easily doable. As for the why… we know that ship’s still hiding something. It must be a really big and ugly secret, if it’s willing to kill us all for it – even Captain Hunt and Rommie.”

“I wonder why Rommie didn’t see it sooner,” Rev Bem said with mild reproach in his scratchy voice.

“ _Pax_ changed her avatar,” Rommie answered defensively. “We used to call her ‘Maggie’... and she used to have a different look. But what are we doing with her now?”

“There's a simple solution,” everyone jumped a little when the screen split and Tyr appeared on one half of it. “Erase it.”

“If you erase her, you kill her!” Rommie cried.

Tyr rolled his eyes. “And if we _don’t_ erase her, she’ll have her army of androids kill us all. After which they’ll most likely destroy the _Andromeda_ to cover their trail.”

“He’s right, Rommie,” Dylan said. “We don't have a choice. Access code Lexic-Dark-52...”

“Dylan, wait!” Rommie begged, and Tyr cursed inwardly. They _almost_ had the legal code to erase the _Pax_ AI, which would have been a much safer procedure than using Finnabair’s virus. “Whatever is wrong with her, the _Pax_ is still a sentient ship and your fellow High Guard officer.”

“Who’s trying to kill us,” Harper reminded her. “I hate to say this, Rom-doll, but I’m with Tyr in this one.”

Rommie turned to him with a very convincing display of eyes blazing with fury. “She took an oath to die for the Commonwealth's principles, the same oath that Dylan and I took. If you just kill her without investigating – without applying those principles – then her life was meaningless.”

“And what about _our_ lives?” Harper scowled, angrier than they’d ever seen him since he hired on to the _Andromeda_. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Rommie, but I’m _not_ risking my life for the principles of an organization that’s been dead for three hundred years – due to said principles. The Harper isn’t into suicidal actions.”

“I’m afraid it’s not your decision, Mr. Harper,” Dylan said dismissively. “Rommie, what should we do?”

Nobody but Amritray saw the sudden hardening of Harper’s face. As if the engineer had been backhanded. Which he, in a sense, had. Having been told that his life was less important than an insane ship’s AI. That he had no saying in this, despite the fact that his own life was at risk. Amritray wondered how many more punches in the face were needed to change the little engineer’s loyalties. Sometimes it seemed as if Captain Hunt would do his best to alienate his own crew. Which was fine with her. It only strengthened Tyr’s position.

“If I could just go back into the memory archives, I might find out what the ship is hiding and fix it,” Rommie offered.

“All right,” Dylan gave in. “But I'm going in there with you.”

“Erm… Captain,” Rekeeb intervened nervously, “that’s not a good idea. We’ve already had this discussion. _I should_ accompany _Andromeda_ … or Mr. Harper. We’re better equipped for this sort of….”

“No,” Dylan interrupted brusquely, “you’re not family.” He put on the VR goggles, preparing to enter the matrix. “Watch our backs,” he ordered, before going slack.

Tyr glared from the screen unbelievingly. “He’s risking your lives to save a _machine_? In case you haven’t noticed, the androids have just managed to push open the hangar bay door, gaining access to the _Maru_. Things are about to become really ugly.”

“Where are _you_?” Beka asked.

“Coming,” Tyr replied, “but still several decks away.

“Then I suggest you hurry up,” Harper scowled, “because for my part, _I haven’t_ taken any oath for the principles of any long-dead Commonwealth, and I’m surely not ready to die for them.”

Unexpectedly, Tyr grinned at him. “Don’t fret, little man. I won’t let you be harmed. You are too valuable in the machine shops.”

“Geez, thanks, I love ya too,” Harper growled, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Harper, behave,” Beka said impatiently. “Tell me, could you hack into the matrix and erase the _Pax_ AI, in case we needed to do this despite Dylan’s noble intentions?”

“Perhaps,” Harper shrugged, “but it would be dangerous for Dylan and Rommie. We shouldn’t risk that. But when they come out… I can try. Are you really willing to do it?”

“Not yet,” Beka said. “I’ll let Dylan have his way for the time being. Tackling an insane High Guard warship might be just as dangerous. But I want to know what’s going on in that matrix. Rekeeb, could you eavesdrop a little?”

“I’ll try my best, Captain Valentine,” Rekeeb promised meekly, and put on the extra pair of goggles.

Outside the _Maru_ , the androids started banging on the fighter’s doors, as if they were trying to open them by sheer force.

“This is insane,” Harper said. “They won’t be able to break through the _Maru_ ’s hull – will they?”

Beka shrugged. “You’re the engineer. You tell me.”

“They shouldn’t,” the Emerald Than replied in Harper’s stead. “Unless, of course, they intend to blow a gaping hole through the bulkheads. They’re insane enough to try, I think.”

They all listened to the noise the androids were making in concern – until it suddenly stopped, and after a moment of deadly silence, opera music started to play all across the _Pax_ ’ comm system.

“This is getting weird, Boss,” Harper commented, grabbing his nanowelder and choosing the highest energy setting.

Beka raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “Getting?”

The banging on the doors stopped. For a moment, just the swelling of the opera music could be heard – then the doors opened easily.

“Security systems overridden,” the _Maru_ computer reported.

“Oh crap!” Harper shouted, momentarily spooked, seeing Dutch, whose head had apparently been reattached, entering the _Maru_.

Amritray threw him a gauss rifle. “You’ll need more firepower than the ‘welder. Shoot them either in the head or in the chest – both solutions would interrupt vital functions, no matter where their motherboards are placed.”

The opera music swell, on, washing over every single deck of the Pax. The androids boarded the _Maru_ , driven by the single-minded urge to murder the crew, moving like a bizarre ballet ensemble of death and destruction. Beka, Celestial Fire and Amritray were fighting the intruders, slowly losing foothold on the _Maru_ ’s corridors, while Harper retreated to the cockpit to protect Rommie, Dylan and Rekeeb, who were sitting in front of the console controlling the _Maru_ ’s VR matrix, helpless and oblivious of the drama unfolding around them, with the opera music swelling to new heights in the background.

The noise level became painful for Celestial Fire’s sensitive hearing receptors, distracting her from the fight at hand. One of the androids dealt her an energy surge that would have been deadly for any humanoid, although Beka hoped the tough bug would survive. Amritray somersaulted from the bulkhead and shot the head of the android to glowing pieces.

“Repair _that_!” she scowled, still feeling insulted that they’d managed to reanimate Dutch, then looked around for new targets. There were more than enough for each of them, and it didn’t look good for the _Maru_ crew at all.

In this very moment, however, Tyr arrived, seemingly out of nowhere, with a disturbingly feral grin on his face and a seriously oversized gun in each hand. He came in like a moving armoury, firing with each gun at the same time, filling the corridor with glowing, sparkling spare android parts and very obviously enjoying greatly the mayhem he was causing. In mere minutes, the corridor was cleaned – well, as much as any place covered with still jerking electronic body parts could be called ‘clean’.

“It was about time,” Beka remarked snippishly. “What kept you so long?”

“A dozen or so androids,” Tyr replied. “Where’s Harper?”

“Protecting our VR tourists,” Beka said. Tyr shot him an unbelieving look.

“You left that boy alone with three helpless persons? Never mind,” he interrupted, seeing that Beka was trying to answer. “I’ll take care of the problem myself.” Without waiting for her answer, he began to run.

Harper, in the meantime, was having problems. He’d lost his gauss gun in the melee, and was now trying to keep the ‘resurrected’ Dutch, who seemed determined to sever Rommie’s connection to VR, away from the console, using everything he could get his hands on, from various heavy objects to the nanowelder. Unfortunately for him, his fighting tactics, that had often helped him against Nietzscheans in the past, were fairly ineffective against an android who wasn’t able to feel pain.

“Duck!” someone ordered, and Harper did have the common sense to obey. Something big and powerful discharged just above his head, and Dutch flew backward, various parts of his body molten beyond repair. Harper rose to all fours, still trembling with over-exertion, and looked directly into the manically grinning face of Tyr.

“You sure took your sweet time to get here,” he scowled.

“I was… hindered on my way here,” Tyr replied, helping him to his feet and looking him over. “Are you all right, boy?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll live,” Harper waved impatiently distracted by Rommie, Dylan and Rekeeb coming out of VR. The Perseid was cringing in pain.

“My cranial implant wasn’t constructed to deal with that sort of static,” he complained. Dylan paid him no attention.

“We need to get out of here,” he said instead. Harper gave him an exasperated look.

“Yeah, tell me something I don't know. It’s not as if _we_ wouldn’t want to get the hell out – it was _you_ who insisted on playing shrink to an AI gone mad.

Dylan ignored him, too. “You all right?” he asked Rommie.

She nodded, glancing at Rekeeb apologetically.” _I am_.”

“Can we go now?” Beka asked impatiently. “You can share the intimate details later. This isn’t the time.”

Dylan looked around the battlefield, still not showing any intention to move. “What happened here?”

“You missed Tyr's cavalry act,” Beka replied. “Without him, you’d have managed to get us all killed, just to save an insane ship. Can we go _now_?”

Tyr, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy himself immensely.

“They were playing _Wagner_ ,” he said. “It's the most fun I've had in about six months.”

Harper rolled his eyes. “ _Über_ s. They are a perversion of nature.”

“ _Perfection_ of nature,” Tyr corrected, still grinning like a fool.

“Yeah, whatever,” with the help of the _Maru_ , Harper hacked into the Pax’ board systems. “I’ve overridden the hangar door block. We can go any time you want. _Now_ would be preferable.”

“You go,” Tyr said. “I’ll try to return to the command deck and disable the fire controls.”

“That’d be helpful,” Dylan agreed, “but how do you intend to get back to the _Andromeda_?”

“In a slipfighter,” Tyr grinned. “You _can_ override the lock on the slipfighter hangar, can’t you?”

“Of course, but…”

“Then do it. The _Andromeda_ can use one more slipfighter, can she not?”

“Definitely,” Dylan nodded. “You’ll need my Argosy code, though.”

“Don’t worry, I already have it,” Tyr said. “You announced it long enough on GS92196. So, unless the _Pax_ demands a voiceprint or retina ID, I’ll be fine.”

“She won’t,” Harper said. “The core AI is very confused right now, so I’ve managed to switch all systems to low security settings. I can’t guarantee how long it’ll last, though, so we better hurry up.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Harper was proved right when the _Pax_ started firing on the _Andromeda_ as soon as the _Maru_ escaped. The PDLs of the battered freighter had their work cut out for them to repell all stray missiles that otherwise would hit _them_ instead of the _Andromeda_ , and Beka needed all her piloting skills to dodge the shots sent directly after them, not to mention the variously sized asteroids in their way.

They stormed directly to the command deck, taking up positions, to Rev Bem’s eternal relief. The _Andromeda_ took several hits in a row but so far she was holding out well enough.

“Prepare to return fire,” Glittering Starlight ordered, vacating the command chair for Dylan and sliding into the pilot’s seat. “Slipfighters One and Two are ready to launch to draw some of the fire away from _Andromeda_.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Dylan said confidently. “Rev, call the _Pax_. I’m sure we can reason with her, now that she doesn’t see her territory threatened.”

“I seriously doubt it,” the Magog said, “but it’s your call.”

To everyone’s surprise, the image of Jill Pierce – or, to be more accurate, that of the _Pax_ avatar – appeared onscreen almost immediately.

“Dylan… I’m sorry…”

“Maggie, you have to stop this!” Rommie begged her. “Don't make things worse than they already are.”

“You've been a good little sister, _Andromeda_ ,” the _Pax_ avatar replied in sorrow. “I wish there were another way.” At the same moment, the _Andromeda_ took more hits.

“What the hell is Tyr doing?” Dylan scowled. “He was supposed to disable the _Pax_ fire controls!”

“He might have run into… hindrances,” Amritray said grimly.

“We can't continue to shoot down her missiles,” Rev Bem warned. “Some of them are going to sneak through. And we have civilians aboard, Dylan, diplomatic personnel – we’re responsible for their safety.”

“I know _that_ ,” Dylan snapped in frustration. The Magog’s beady eyes watched him intently.

“Do you?” More hits shook the _Andromeda_ as some sort of answer.

“Shall we return fire?” Sword of Midnight, standing behind the fire controls, asked.

“Enough to neutralize her missile batteries,” Dylan ordered. “Don't destroy the vessel.”

“Missiles away,” the Than reported crisply. “Switching to external view.”

The main screen now showed the _Pax_ being hit by the _Andromeda_ ’s missiles... and a massive explosion blooming on the golden ship, soundlessly, like a deadly flower of fire.

“The _Pax_ … she’s breaking up!” Rev Bem whispered in shock. Beka shook her head.

“There’s no way our weapons burst could have caused that,” she said.

“It hasn’t,” Sword of Midnight replied, studying the readings. “The _Pax_ let down her defences. She made us destroy her.”

“Oh, great!” Harper rolled his eyes. “Not just psychotic, but suicidal, too. Tyr’s was right. We should have erased the core AI. That way, at least we could have kept the ship.” He paused and became deathly pale. “Ohmygod, Tyr! He’s still aboard the _Pax_!”

“And the _Pax_ is literally falling to pieces,” Sword of Midnight added grimly.

Dylan shrugged, as if he’d have been about to say ‘collateral damage’, but wisely remained silent. Besides, at the moment he felt a lot keener the loss of an excellent – albeit insane – High Guard warship than that of his unpredictable Nietzschean fire control officer. Sure, Tyr was useful in combat situations, but in the end he couldn’t be trusted. No Nietzschean could. The only person Tyr would ever be completely loyal to was Tyr himself.

Rommie seemed devastated over the loss of her ‘sister’, too.

“Maggie, why?” she lamented. “Why are you doing this?”

The image of the cool blonde beauty gazed at her from the viewscreen thoughtfully.

“You can’t understand this,” the _Pax_ replied, “and I hope for your sake that you never will. This has been a three hundred year nightmare, and I’m glad it’s finally over.”

The viewscreen switched back to external, and they watched in morbid fascination the _Pax_ explode in another deadly bloom of fire.


	19. Picking Up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyr makes his move and acquires his prize, without the knowledge of his shipmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heartfelt thanks to the Memory Alpha members Arthur Hansen, Erinnyes and FireStar, who helped me with the technical questions. The principles of Nietzschean mating mentioned here are based on _Of Sex and Violence_ in _The Ancestor’s Breath_ by Keith Hamilton Cobb. You can read the original concept on his website.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **Chapter 18 - Picking Up the Pieces**

On the command deck of the _Pax Magellanic_ Tyr watched the spectacle taking place in almost disturbingly close proximity to his current location. According to the agitated chatter still leaking through the _Andromeda_ ’s comm system – thankfully, no one had thought of closing it so far – Höhne’s plan had worked like a charm. The high-energy EMP-missiles had sufficiently blinded the _Andromeda_ ’s sensors, without damaging them beyond repair, while the experimental shape-charge missiles put up a very convincing show of having destroyed the _Pax_. Rekeeb had managed to fool the _Andromeda_ AI into believing that her regular missiles had hit the _Pax_ , while they actually exploded just in front of the ship, shaking it badly, but in fact directing the explosion away from it and towards the _Andromeda_.

Of course, the battle for the _Pax_ had not been won yet. Dylan could still decide to examine the debris, and the _Pax_ was in no shape to play hide-and-seek with a fully functional _Andromeda_ when most of her systems required manual control. Not before the core AI was reprogrammed and re-initialized. Tyr could only hope that both Dylan and his ship were grieving deeply enough to leave the Herodotus system as soon as possible.

Currently, the _Pax_ was floating dead in space. Having taken a hasty retreat deeper into the asteroid field, Tyr had turned off everything save minimal life support, to give off no energy signatures. He hoped that the confusing readings amidst the asteroid debris would camouflage his ship long enough. He knew, however, that he’d have to return to _Andromeda_ , soon, or else his ‘miraculous’ survival wouldn’t be convincing. It wasn’t easy to fool Dylan Hunt; not after he’d learned from his mistakes made concerning Gaheris Rhade. But Tyr couldn’t leave just now. Not before his allies arrived to secure the ship.

Leaving the _Pax_ behind in Sabran hands _did_ have its risks, of course. The El-Hakim clan could decide to simply seize the _Pax_ and keep it as part of their fleet. They had considerable firepower and a great number of combatants to do so, while Tyr was alone. And while Finnabair’s cleverly constructed virus had not only wiped out the core AI but also keyed the crucial systems to his DNA, a good enough computer expert still could get around the safety measures, given enough time.

Tyr sighed. He _had_ to trust his Sabran allies, at least for the time being. He had to trust that El-Hakim’s agents had been able to track the _Andromeda_ and pick up the necessary information he’d left at the pre-arranged drop points. Otherwise, the whole act had been for nothing and he’d have to leave the _Pax_ behind defenceless, unprotected and open for plunderers. He _had_ to return to Freya, and soon. He couldn’t leave _her_ behind. _Or_ their unborn child.

A blinking light drew his attention. Passive sensors - the only systems beside life support he dared to leave on – clicked into life. The display showed an approaching ship, sneaking up from the side opposite to that of the _Andromeda_. The automated board systems identified it as a High Guard long-range surveillance ship… or something very similar. That would mean either Abigail or Nathaniel, then. Of course, the ship didn’t send any ID-code. That could have been picked up by the _Andromeda_. So Tyr had no other choice than wait.

The captain of the ship was careful enough not to come into visual range. A small pod left the vessel, heading directly to the _Pax_ ’ hangar bay. Tyr jogged down from the command deck to open the hangar doors manually. He’d allow limited access to the main systems to whoever had come to secure the ship, but right now manual overrides were preferable, as they didn’t emit any energy signatures.

He stepped onto the hangar deck and watched the hatch of the small craft opening and revealing the freshly arrived persons. Abigail was the first to leave the pod, which meant that the ship floating in space near the _Pax_ must have been the _Hand of Victory_. Tyr was relieved to see her instead of one of her brothers. For an Alpha, an unbound female was always a potential ally, while a male of his own status always meant unwanted discord.

A group of about a dozen people followed Abigail, mostly young men wearing the crest of Sabra Pride, save for a slender, dark-haired and rather pale woman, at the sight of whom Tyr broke into a huge grin.

“Finnabair!” he cried out in delight. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“How could I have left such a challenge unanswered?” his Fourth Wife laughed and accepted a long, unhurried kiss from him. “Nemhain sent Angus with me,” she added, nodding towards the young Völsung pilot whom Tyr had already met on Haukin Vora. “I’m supposed to teach him more about engineering and cybernetics as we go.”

Tyr nodded in appreciation. Like a true Matriarch, Nemhain wouldn’t let Finnabair go with the Sabra alone. And sending a pilot with her, who also could be used as an engineer, ensured a certain amount of control for them.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “And the others?”

“Preliminary scans show that Derdriu is expecting a boy, and so does Ayeshwariam,” Finnabair replied, knowing well what he’d want to know. “My child is female. We’re all well. Shakuni’s new wife is pregnant, too. The new Pride is growing.”

Tyr nodded again, patting her arm in affection, and turned to Abigail.

“Welcome aboard the _Pax Magellanic_ ,” he said formally. “Your presence honours me. I’ll have to leave within the hour if we want to keep our guise here,” he added, “ but I think we should talk. In private.”

Abigail inclined her head. “Agreed. I’d have asked for it myself, had you not offered, as I need to ask you a favour. The others can man their stations in the meantime, and start working.”

“Finnabair, we’re going to use the captain’s quarters,” Tyr said to his wife. “I’d like you to move there as soon as I’ve left.”

Finnabair nodded and sat down to the engineering station to see if they had any means to leave the system on their own.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Mikaelan is expecting a male child,” Abigail told Tyr, as soon as they reached Captain Warrick’s long-abandoned quarters. “They are both fine. She intends to move aboard this ship when it’s functional again. Which leads us to the primary question: In what shape, exactly, is the _Pax_?”

“Overall, it’s functioning at peak efficiency,” Tyr replied, “aside from the fact that it has no slipstream drive, of course.”

Abigail stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. “No… slipstream… drive?” she repeated slowly. Tyr shrugged.

“None at all. The drive’s exotic matter pulser has been ejected three hundred years ago – that was what caused the destruction of the planet Herodotus – and never replaced.”

Abigail nodded, processing that particular piece of information for a moment.”

“I see,” she finally said. “And I must admit a certain grade of… satisfaction that the true fate of Herodotus has been revealed, after all.”

“Are you personally interested in the planet?” Tyr asked in surprise.

“Not me alone, our entire family,” Abigail replied. “We had an ancestor among the troops fighting for that planet: Strike Marshal Eleazar Ben-Gurion. Herodotus had been promised our clan as a possible homeworld, in case we managed to seize it. It wasn’t until two hundred years ago that we settled for Centauris A.”

“The Sabra fought valiantly in the war against the Commonwealth,” Tyr said. “Unlike the Jaguar…”

“Well, they’ve always bred for treachery,” Abigail dismissed the entire Pride with a shrug. “Tell me, could the _Pax_ replace the missing slipstream drive? There are enough asteroids floating around to mine for raw material.”

“Not as long as the core AI hasn’t been reinitiated,” Tyr shook his head. Abigail frowned.

“In that case we should get her to our colony somehow. Are the conventional engines working?”

“As far as I can tell – yes.”

“Good. We’ll fly in close formation, then. The _Hand of Victory_ will open the slipstream portal for both ships and lead the _Pax_ through.”

“That’s a risky maneuver,” Tyr warned, “with an uncomfortably high possibility of failure.”

“I know,” Abigail said. “That’s why I will pilot the _Pax_ myself. I’ve done this before – and, as you can see, lived to tell the tale. Besides, there aren’t many other chances to get the _Pax_ away from here.”

“I know,” Tyr sighed,” I still don’t like it, though.”

“Neither do I,” Abigail admitted, “but only a well-equipped shipyard can replace a slipstream drive’s exotic matter pulser. We happen to have such a shipyard, and we certainly will be very… _discreet_ about it,” she looked at Tyr’s reluctant face and smiled thinly. “You still don’t trust us, do you? You’re afraid that we’d take the ship from you. Keep it for ourselves.”

“The thought occurred to me, yes,” Tyr answered slowly. Abigail nodded.

“That would be the logical choice, indeed – if not for the ‘small’ matter of your genetic heritage.”

Tyr frowned. “I’m not sure I can follow you.”

Abigail leaned forward in her chair, her face intensely serious.

“The genetic tests speak a clear language,” she said. “You are the closest match to the Progenitor that has been known for centuries; and we’ve kept records for a very long time, so you can believe _that_. If he’s to be reborn, it would be from your loins. Therefore, we need you on our side. One of your descendants _will_ be the perfect match one day, and when he reunites the Prides, the Sabra will stand behind his throne as the elite force of the new Nietzschean Empire.”

“You certainly have long-lasting plans, don’t you?” Tyr asked, half-impressed, half-amused.

“Of course,” Abigail said. “In fact, my grandfather, Leonidas, had already planned an alliance with the Kodiak. He wanted to marry me off to your older brother, Loki. Of course, the massacre on your Pride was pretty much the end of his plans, too.”

“Which is where we come to the favour you need to ask me,” Tyr said, fairly certain of what to expect.

“We do,” Abigail agreed. “As you know, I already have four children; all of them Alphas, raised by the family of my brother Jonathan. I’ve always chosen my mates very carefully. And now I want to do even better than before, as long as the uncertain peace lasts, while I’m less demanded on the command deck of my ship. I want to have a child from you.”

“Because I’m such a close match?” Tyr asked with a small smile. Abigail smiled back at him.

“Precisely,” she said. “Is that not what every Nietzschean woman dreams of? To give birth to the Progenitor? By lying with you, I’ll have better chances than most. _And_ I have a lot to offer.”

Tyr thought about that. Abigail would have been an excellent choice indeed, with good genes and valuable personal traits. Not to mention the fact that procreating together would make them allies. Still, there were other aspects to take into consideration.

“Would you keep the child with you, to strengthen Sabra Pride?” he asked. That was always the woman’s right. He couldn’t demand that she gave him the child if she didn’t want to. But he has already lost Amritray’s unborn son to Völsung Pride and was not willing to do so with more of his progeny.

“I’d be willing to let you and Mikaelan raise our child,” Abigail said. “I don’t intend to give up my duty as a warrior and become a docile homemaker – that’s not in my blood.”

“What does Mikaelan say to it?” Tyr inquired. Freya not being present, he needed at least his Second Wife’s agreement.

“We’ve discussed this with the entire family, and Mikaelan is agreeable,” Abigail replied. Her voice became urgent and intense again. “Think about it; our child, whether male or female, would be an asset to your new Kodiak-Sabra Pride – and you do need children with good genes. Your Völsung wives won’t bear you Alpha children, you know.”

Of course he knew that. But they were _blood_. He didn’t even try to make Abigail understand.

“Very well,” he said, “we can do it here and now. But first I want a binding contract that you’ll give the child into _my_ custody.”

Abigail grinned and produced a flimsy, carefully formulated and officially validated by the signatures of Ezekial El-Hakim _and_ the Pride Matriarchs.

“I knew you’d demand something like that,” she said. “So I took the liberty of preparing the necessary documents in advance.”

Tyr checked the document very carefully. Such things were taken seriously among Nietzscheans, and Abigail would expect him to do so. Everything seemed to be in order, the text phrased in the most formal manner, the signatures validated by fingerprints and DNA-codes. The legal technicalities thus being cleared, Tyr saw no reason to refuse Abigail’s request. It was a most reasonable request, after all.

‘Love’, as humans would call it, played no role in this business. Nietzschean women, with very few exceptions, selected their mate – or, in Abigail’s case, their _mates_ – based on the sole purpose of making genetically superior children, for the furtherance of the Pride in general and that of the bloodline from which they came in particular. Abigail’s current choice, inspired by the ambitious dream of becoming the mother of the Progenitor, was an excellent example of this practice.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They had less than an hour left before Tyr had to return to the _Andromeda_ , but once a woman’s choice was made, the mating process usually ensued quickly – and with the usual Nietzschean efficiency. By the average Nietzschean mating, the likelihood of conception lay over ninety per cent. Just as they were bred to fight efficiently, they were also supremely efficient in procreating.

So he did his best to be efficient and left Abigail behind in the hope that he’d succeeded in getting her with child. It was a strong possibility that he had, but they couldn’t be absolutely sure. Even Nietzschean women needed at least one day for that.

“Be well, lady mine,” he said, speaking his farewells to the beautiful and deadly assassin. “Let me know the outcome of our efforts.”

“I’ll leave messages at the usual drops,” Abigail promised. Her clan had a well-established information network that had served them for generations.

Tyr nodded. It was better than running everything through Ferahr. Too much knowledge would have been dangerous for the human, and Tyr didn’t want to lose him. Ferahr was the only aspect of his past – well, of the past two decades – that he didn’t despise.

His goodbye to Finnabair was equally short and hurried. He regretted that he didn’t have the time to lie with her – pregnant women, even Nietzschean ones, liked a little reassurance – but that couldn’t be helped. He hoped that one day he’d be able to reunite his scattered family, and they could sit all together in peace and unwatched by outsiders, to exchange stories and strengthen the family bonds.

At least he _had_ a family now. Wives and in-laws and, hopefully soon, children as well. What could a Nietzschean hope for more? Well, except the painful and prolonged deaths of his enemies, of course. That, too, would come one day. But for that, he first needed to get back safely to the _Andromeda_.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Half an hour later, the _Andromeda_ picked up a battered lifepod from the _Pax_ among the debris, with a royally pissed but very alive Tyr Anasazi in it.

“I didn’t reach the command deck in time,” he explained sourly. “Barely made it out at all.”

Everyone accepted his words without further questions. They’d all seen the explosions, after all. And Tyr looked properly battered, himself.

“Well,” Beka said, when the former _Maru_ crew got together in the mess hall, “can anyone tell us what exactly happened in the VR matrix the last time? Why was the _Pax_ trying to kill us all? I don’t think that either Rommie or Dylan would spill, but perhaps Harper managed to squeeze the truth out of that annoying little chinhead.”

“More or less,” Harper grabbed a can of Sparky and took a long drink. “Apparently, the _Pax_ avatar and her captain had a… thing going. Ya know, doing the horizontal mambo…”

“We get the picture,” Beka interrupted, before he could get into any more detail. “And?”

“Well, when Captain Warrick ordered friendly fire down on his own position, the babe apparently refused to self-destruct, as she was supposed to do,” Harper shrugged. “Not that I’d blame her – organic or not, who’d want to die if there was another way? The Commonwealth had already lost two galaxies by then. So she ejected the slipstream engine, which blew up the entire planet, with all the _Über_ s on it. If you ask me, it would have been a good idea – if only her own crew weren’t sitting in a rat trap on the same planet.”

“It was a remarkable act of self-preservation,” Tyr commented. He was preparing dinner for them and Freya, having achieved honorary crewman status for saving Harper’s life. “I’d think she was programmed by a Nietzschean.”

“That’s a distinct possibility,” Rev Bem said. “Dylan keeps telling that Nietzscheans once used to be ‘valuable members of the Commonwealth’, doesn’t he?”

“We were,” Tyr shrugged, his knives doing a speedy dance with the assorted vegetables that could make any onlooker dizzy. “Before the Commonwealth came to the insane idea of making a treaty with the Magog. No offence intended,” he added, with a sidelong glance at Rev Bem, while his knives kept working as if on their own.

The Wayist monk inclined his head. “None taken. I’m well aware of the ways of my people – and I’m _not_ proud of them. I guess Dylan was led by his old instincts, drilled into him at the High Guard Academy, when he hired both Tyr and myself.”

“He seems to have changed his mind since then, though,” Harper said. “He’d have left Tyr behind, had Amritray not intervened.”

“That was only logical,” Tyr shrugged. “Five lives in exchange for one – _plus_ his own. I’d have done the same.”

“Yeah, but at least you have the excuse of being an _Über_ ,” Harper pointed out, “and we all know that _Über_ s are selfish bastards,” he glanced at Freya apologetically. “Except the ladies, of course.”

Freya laughed. “No, we are no exception. In fact, we are a lot worse than our men. Especially when we are pregnant or protecting our children.”

“But you look a lot better,” Harper bowed towards her with exaggerated gallantry, and she grinned. “Anyway, it seems that after the _Pax_ babe offed all the _Über_ s, plus her own crew, out of unrequited love or whatnot, she started feeling lonely. So she got into the genetic database and fabricated android replicas of her fave crewmen, starting with Dutch. And since they couldn’t leave the system _or_ replace their slipstream drive, she spent the last three hundred years wallowing in self-pity and feeling guilty. End of story.”

“Sounds pretty convincing,” Beka judged. “It certainly explains everything – _including_ the _Pax_ trying to hide the ugly truth at any costs. She must have known what she’d have to expect in case anyone ever found out what had happened.”

“Not anyone,” Tyr corrected, dumping the vegetables into a frying pan, “just anyone from the High Guard, with their high and mighty morale and suicidal idealism. Any Nietzschean would approve of her actions, despite the fact that she’d wiped out several of our infantry units down on Herodotus. Had she not been programmed with those oh-so-elated High Guard values, she hadn’t gone mad, and we’d have another heavy cruiser at our disposal.”

“Well, Dylan did everything in his might to save her,” the holographic image of Rommie flickered to life near their table.

“Yeah, including risking all our lives,” Harper growled.

Rommie gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand you, Harper. You’d have risked your life to save _me_ when I was accused of murdering President Lee. How could you be so… indifferent about my sister?”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “You might be Dylan’s ship to command, but _I’m_ your engineer. _I built_ you with my own hands. She was just a crazy machine to me, who tried to kill us all. I’d say there’s a big difference. Even though Dylan seems to think I’m not part of your cosy little family.”

Beka suppressed a smile as she saw both Rommie and the Nietzschean staring at Harper in surprise. Yes, her little engineer played the role of the good-natured, easily excited, cheerful and harmless mudfoot so convincingly that most people never thought about how he’d managed to survive on Earth for twenty years. That’s why they were fairly shocked whenever the ruthless, self-protective streak of him surfaced.

“That was… not a very nice thing of Dylan to say,” Rommie admitted reluctantly. “I guess he was back in the good old times, in spirit anyway. Remember, for him – or for me, for that matter – the Commonwealth isn’t a distinct historic period. For us, it was very real, only a few months ago.”

“Oh, I don’t blame him,” Beka said in a manner that belied her words. “For a few hours, he had all that spit and polish again that he loves so much. Hourly reports, highlighted in three colours, ensigns saluting crisply whenever he walks by, everyone looking up to him with admiration, kissing his ass… I guess, had I grown up like that, I’d miss it, too.”

“Structure,” Rommie said. “Order. Discipline. Control. Captains like that sort of thing. But he still has the most important thing: a crew he can count on. And he knows that.”

“He does?” Beta asked, puzzled. “It sure as hell doesn’t sound like that when he’s ranting about our work. Which he does at least once a day.”

“He’s having a hard time coping with the changes,” Rommie said. “Give him a little more time. Remember, he’s lost almost everyone he loved. Lost his entire life.”

“He’s not the only one,” Harper riposted, “but the rest of us doesn’t try to get each other killed, just to cling to a shard of our pasts a little longer. Well, Tyr maybe, but he’s an _Über_ , so that’s different.”

“Indeed,” Tyr agreed, setting the heaped plate of excellent stirfry in the middle of the table. “I might risk _your_ lives, especially if you keep calling me _Über_. I’d never risk _mine_. So your best chance of survival is to be where I am, all the time.”

“Wouldn’t that be a little crowded in some situations?” Harper leered, shooting Freya a double-meaning grin.

Tyr shook his head tolerantly. He’d kill any man who’d dare to look at any of his wives like that, but one could not be angry with Harper. Not for such crude but basically harmless jokes. Besides, the engineer was cute when he flirted.

“Eat and grow strong, little man,” the Nietzschean said. “You might need it. That perpetual horniness of yours will be your death one day.”

“I cannot help being irresistible,” Harper complained, ignoring the collective eyerolls around him with practiced ease, and turned his attention to the tasty food with his usual enthusiasm.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
In their shared quarters, the two Perseids activated the clever little scrambler that Harper had made for them, in exchange for some engineering tricks usually known to Perseids only. This way, they could talk without _Andromeda_ being able to eavesdrop… at least for a good twenty minutes, until the AI adapted. As the scrambler changed its frequency randomly every time they used it, that meant twenty to thirty unwatched minutes at any given time.

“I’m not completely happy with how things have turned out,” Höhne said. “I’d have preferred to keep the _Pax_ for ourselves. But that’s not an option anymore. Well, at least we were able to save her.”

“Do you think Anasazi – or his allies – are going to give us access to the ship as promised?” Rekeeb asked doubtfully. He didn’t look well, had still a bad headache after his cranial implant had been half-fried by the _Pax_.

“Oh, they will, no doubt,” Höhne laughed. “They’d want updates to their ships in exchange, though. And who else would be more suited to do those updates than us?”

“Are you really willing to give the Nietzscheans technical advantages?” Rekeeb didn’t seem very comfortable with the idea. “After all the times they’ve raided us?”

“Particularly after those times,” Höhne said. “Give them what they want, and they’ll leave you alone. Make the Sabra your ally, and you’ll have a shield against the Drago-Kazov. It’s that simple. Even though that stubborn fool Nabroth won’t admit it.”

“The Sabra?” the younger Perseid repeated. “Anasazi is allied with Sabra Pride?”

“According to our sources on the Centauris A colony, he’s recently married one of the Pride Alpha’s daughters,” Höhne replied. “The Sabra on Centauris A have a small but rather impressive fleet. They also have an orbital shipyard, although it cannot be compared with ours. I’m quite sure they’ll tow the _Pax_ there.”

“And they’ll ask for _our_ help?” Rekeeb doubted.

“Rebuilding a slipstream drive is a tricky job,” Rekeeb said. “And the Pride Alpha has had contacts to Nabroth for quite some time. Yes, they _will_ ask for our help. Which gives us an advantage. A much-needed one, I may add.”

“But wouldn’t that strengthen Nabroth’s position against the new Commonwealth?” Rekeeb asked in concern. “It’d have been more advantageous for you if _we_ had gotten the _Pax_ alone.”

“Of course,” Höhne nodded. “That’s what I’ve tried – and failed. I must not fail with the Commonwealth membership. A new Commonwealth would be a welcome balance to the various Nietzschean alliances, none of which is a steady one. But we cannot change what happened. Now we have to make the best of the current situation. And right now, the best thing is to cooperate with the winner.”

“True enough,” Rekeeb admitted. “Still, I can’t shake off the feeling that we’re being blatantly dishonest to Captain Hunt.”

“We most likely are,” Höhne agreed. “But we don’t have a choice. We have to see that our own world remains safe. Somehow. Anyhow.”

“That,” Rekeeb said slowly, “ had an uncomfortably… Nietzschean sound to it.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Höhne asked with a faint smile. “After having fought against them for three hundred years, we’ve become just like them. The Universe truly has a warped sense of humour.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After Rev Bem was done with comforting Rommie, he and the grieving android finally left Obs deck. Tyr Anasazi came forth from the shadowy corner where he’d been hiding and stepped up to the huge viewscreen to admire the bright stars beyond it.

His future was somewhere out there. Somewhere among the billions of celestial bodies was a planet best suited to become the new Kodiak homeworld. One day he would leave the _Andromeda Ascendant_ behind as an insignificant part of his past, together with the delusional dreams of her captain, to begin to build his own dream. A dream the foundation of which had already been laid in the wombs of his wives and consorts.

One day, they’ll be all together. His wives, his children, all the Nietzschean Prides. United or erased. There would be no more sundering among his people.

But first he had to retrieve the cornerstone of that dream-to-be-built. And that cornerstone was currently in a place deadly perilous for him. On Enga’s Redoubt, the center of Drago-Kazov might.

Granted, it was a risk more insane than any other risks he’d taken all his life. But it had to be done - and he was confident that he’d succeed.

It _was_ his birthright, after all, to hold the bones of the Progenitor under guard. He’ll not allow the usurpers to take his rightful place any longer.

~ The End~

Copyright: Soledad Cartwright@2005-05-30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, as you can see it is a fairly old story. I'm still rather content how it turned out, though. *g*  
> Coming up next: Birthright 03 - The Lady of the Lake


End file.
